


Say What You Mean

by kleinchen



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Slow Build, Smut, Swearing, bi!jack, musical shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleinchen/pseuds/kleinchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a late-night text: "Jack. Let's start a band."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Septiplier fic, and the first fanfic I've written in quite a while. But the idea for it got me good and didn't let go, so here I am!
> 
> I want to make a quick note of this beforehand: I've chosen to use character names, namely "Jack" and "Wiishu" rather than their real names, just for the sake of creating a wall of separation between the character and the real person, as transparent as that wall may be. Unfortunately Mark has no such character name, so he just gets to be Mark :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

He gets a text from Mark late at night, just as he’s wrapping up his last bit of editing and getting ready for bed. When his phone buzzes he doesn’t grab it right away, frowning at his work on the computer screen and wondering who would text him so late - or early, really, as at nearly five in the morning the sun would be coming up before much longer. But when he sees Mark’s name on the screen he reaches for the phone.

The message is short and he reads it quickly - “Jack. Let’s start a band.” 

His brows furrow, certain he’s misunderstood, and he reads it again, slower. “Jack. Let’s start a band.”

Jack lets out a bark of a laugh, breaking through the silence of the dimly lit room. He pulls off his headphones and stands up, stretching and cracking his neck. Counting backwards on his fingers, he figures it’s nearly ten at night for Mark, so he texts back, “Had a bit too much to drink, buddy?” He moves to save his editing and turn off the computer, but Mark texts him back almost instantly.

“I’m serious!” he reads, then seconds later: “Also, why are you still up? Get some sleep!!” Jack laughs again, his grin crinkling his tired eyes. Much as he’d rather keep working, sleep is sounding more and more appealing.

“I was about to, before you decided to wake me with your crazy ideas,” he writes back.

“We can talk about it later, when you’re in your right mind. Msg me when you’re up??” Mark responds.

“Who’s the one not in his right mind?” he quips, spinning in his office chair as his computer powers down. “Haha, I’ll see how you feel about it in the morning.”

The glow of the computer screen shuts off, and Jack is left in the dark room lit only by the light of his phone. But Mark doesn’t respond, and the phone’s light dims and then flickers out, too, while he waits. 

With a yawn, he gets out of the chair and gets ready for bed. Teeth brushed, pajamas on, a glass of water on his bedside table - but Mark never texts him back. Jack chuckles, thinking of Mark sitting around with his friends, coming up with the idea of a group of Youtubers starting a band over a few too many beers; it’s absolutely something Mark would dream up. But it’s been years since he’s played drums, and he’s only ever heard Mark sing in person once, at PAX East when Bob and Wade had heckled Mark into a song as they’d sat around in his hotel room for some late night drinks. The older man, flushed with alcohol and embarrassment, had picked up a guitar (whose it was he couldn’t remember) and strummed out some warbling Sam Smith song that had been on the radio every hour and on the playlists of every shop they’d been in. His voice had been warm and deep and sweet and left Jack grinning like a smitten child - but starting a band together is a different matter entirely.

But it was Jack who Mark had thought of when he’d had the idea, and the thought leaves Jack falling asleep smiling.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Jack gets up at eleven thirty and doesn’t think of Mark’s text until after he’s fixed himself some breakfast and put the finishing touches on last night’s editing, the first video uploading as he works on the next. With seven hours between them, he figures six in the morning is too damn early for Mark to be getting any texts from him, so he goes back to his work.

An hour later, Mark is the one who texts him. Jack’s phone goes off and he picks it up to read, “JACK. Us. In a band. You in?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head, and responds, “Still on about that??”

“Let’s talk about it. Skype?”

“Ok. Gimme 10min.”

He tidies up his workspace, checks on the uploading video, and gets himself another glass of water before bringing up Skype. Mark’s already online, so he starts the call.

Mark’s face appears on his screen, a tired grin on his face. The man’s hair is messy and Jack can see his bare shoulders - he’s clearly still in bed. Jack grins back, laughing.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, his voice still raspy with sleep.

“Isn’t it a bit early for you, Marky boy?” he teases, leaning back in his chair.

“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” Mark insists. “I had to talk to you about it.”

“Jeez, you’re serious about all that?”

“Yeah!” Mark exclaims, rubbing his eyes. “Listen. You know I’ve been taking voice lessons, you know I’ve been wanting to make music. I can play guitar and sing, and you’re on the drums - we can find a bassist, and then we have a band!”

“Mark,” Jack says with a laugh. “I’m flattered, buddy, really, but I’m the last person for the job. Even if we were, how could we practice with the time difference?”

“The Internet is a magical thing,” Mark says sagely, nodding. Jack laughs again.

“And furthermore,” he continues resolutely, lifting a finger to accentuate his point. “It’s literally been _years_ since I’ve done any kind of serious drumming. It’s not like ridin’ a bike, it’s a skill you have to keep up with or — ”

“Isn’t it, though?” Mark interrupts. “Jack. You think I didn’t notice you tapping out beats on literally _everything_ every time we’ve been together? I bet you’re tapping your feet to something right now, even.”

Jack stills his foot, grimacing. “Guilty as charged,” he admits, sending Mark into a fit of triumphant giggles. When he trails off, wiping the mirth from his eyes, Jack continues, “But it’s not the _same,_ Mark, not really. It’d be like asking a, a high schooler to be part of your band, a _serious_ band. There’s more talented people you could find, much closer to you, I’m sure of it.”

“But I don’t want some other person,” Mark says, his voice suddenly low and serious, sending a tingle down Jack’s spine. “I want _you_ , Jack. Think of how great it would be to be in a band together. And distance isn’t that big of a deal, we don’t have to, you know, start with local gigs and stuff to get our names out there - we’ve both already got a built-in fanbase, we know how to collaborate, audio editing, all that stuff - it would be great. It would _work._ ”

For a moment they watch each other through the screen, silent, until Mark raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, waiting for Jack’s response. Jack opens his mouth, but only manages to shake his head, eyes wide in disbelief. He swallows hard, then starts again.

“Jesus, Mark, you really are serious, aren’t you?” he says.

“I really am,” Mark agrees.

“I just… I mean…” Jack says, still unsure of what to say. “It’s… Something I’d really have to think about, Mark. I don’t really know what to say.” Mark laughs.

“Goodness, I’m not asking you to drop everything and run away with me, Jack,” he teases. Jack laughs, but somehow the prospect of it all seems huge and heavy, more serious than Mark says. “Well, if you need to think about it, think about it. We can talk about it more whenever you want.”

“Sure,” Jack agrees, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Let’s Skype again soon.”

“Tomorrow?” Mark suggests.

“Umm,” Jack says, thinking. “No, tomorrow’s no good. The day after?”

“Got a hot date?” Mark prompts, grinning. Jack snorts.

“With my _cousin_ ,” he retorts, and Mark laughs. “Yeah, he’s in town, we’re getting dinner, so I’ll be pretty busy tomorrow between that and work. But the day after is fine. Same time as now?”

“Sure,” Mark says. “Nothing I love more than seeing your sunshiny face first thing in the morning.” Jack laughs, but Mark’s smile on the screen makes him blush. He turns his face away under the guise of reaching for his drink.

“Alright, well,” Mark continues. “I’m gonna go get some breakfast and get to work.”

“Sounds good,” Jack says. “Have a good day, buddy.”

“Thanks, same to you. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Mark,” he says, and ends the call. Mark’s face vanishes from the screen, and for a long moment he stares at the Skype interface, watching as Mark’s icon changes from green to red as the other man logs off.

He really hadn’t thought Mark had been serious when he’d texted Jack in the middle of the night. Starting a band? As appealing as it sounded, it just wasn’t feasible, was it? They were both busy all day making videos, and with a seven hour time difference collaborating on videos was hard enough - how could they throw music into that, too? It just isn’t realistic, he tells himself, and that’s that.

But as he goes back to his editing he can’t stop thinking about it. He thinks of Mark’s voice, his hands on the guitar, that night at PAX. He thinks of the parody videos Mark had uploaded, singing about video games — funny as they were, Mark’s talent still shone through. He could really have a musical career ahead of him if he wanted, but Jack? Something like that just wasn’t in Jack’s future, not anymore.

With a frustrated sigh, he gets up from his work and walks down the hallway, passing his bathroom, his bedroom, gliding through the front room, through the kitchen, out onto his little balcony. 

The air is crisp and cool on his skin, the sun gentle and refreshing. It’s a ritual he’s done countless times now — leaving his work when it becomes too much, to breathe in the fresh air, to let the natural light soothe his eyes after long hours staring at too-bright computer screens. A walk in the park across the street sounds even more appealing, but he’s got too much work to do left in the day to spare the time for a walk now. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts Wiishu.

“Hey you,” he types. “Want to Skype? Miss your face.”

But she doesn’t respond, which doesn’t surprise him. She’s usually busy in the afternoon so he rarely texts her this time of day, but suddenly he just wants to talk through all the thoughts roiling through his head, just to get them out and focus on his work unimpeded again.

He sighs, pocketing his phone once more, and leans on the railing, watching the occasional car go by on the road next to the apartment building. He follows the path that winds through the park on the opposite side of the street with his eyes, as far as he can see it go. A figure with a dog on a leash is ambling along the path, further into the park. He can see a child on a swing set, swinging back and forth and sometimes waving to an adult sitting on a nearby bench, who waves back each time.

Being outside is soothing, and after a few minutes he straightens up to go back inside - but not before catching himself tapping out a rhythm with his fingers on the railing.

“Jeez,” he chuckles to himself, shoving the offending hand in his pocket while opening the balcony door with the other, and steps back inside.

 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for your kind words with the first chapter. 
> 
> Since this is definitely going to be a longer work, this chapter will be the first of probably many to feature some original characters who will generally be peripheral, at most, to the larger plot. Hopefully nobody minds too much, heheh :P
> 
> As always, all feedback is appreciated!

“There’s the little man himself!”

Jack’s heard the nickname countless times all his life, but it still rankles as his cousin approaches. The man is not quite two years older than him, but Jack is the youngest of his siblings and all his cousins, so he’s been “little man” for as long as he can remember. He grins in spite of himself, though, as the older man hugs him tightly.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, Seamus, ya bastard?” Jack retorts, muffled against his cousin’s sleeve. “I’ll walk right out of here if you call me that again!” The other man is almost comically Irish - tall and gangly, a good head taller than Jack, with a shock of fiery hair and deep green eyes and freckles splashed across his cheeks.

Seamus only chuckles and releases him, patting his shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, glancing around the restaurant. “You put our names in already?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Good to hear, I’m starved!”

They chat about the weather and Seamus’ trip into town until a waitress comes to seat them. It’s the same restaurant they always visit when they’re both in town, so they order the same meal as usual, the same drinks, and their food arrives quickly.

“How’s your parents?” Seamus asks over his first bite.

“Good, good,” Jack says. “Yeah, everyone’s good, brothers, sisters, all that. The folks are looking into getting a new cabin again, I think, but who knows if that’ll really happen? You know how my dad gets, after all.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m good as ever. Can’t complain, y’know.”

“And how’s your girlfriend?” Seamus asks with a sly grin, and Jack flushes. “She’s, what? Belgian? Swedish?”

He takes a long drink from his beer, pointedly looking away from the other man who is chuckling knowingly across the table. When he finally sets the glass down, he clears his throat and answers, “Danish. And, uh, she’s good. We’re good.”

“Y’know, I can’t imagine how you do it,” the other man says over a sip of his own beer. “All these parts of your life, just over the Internet… I mean, I get Facebook and all that, but what you do, it’s on a whole other level, y’know? Maybe it’s just something for the, uh, _younger_ generation…” Jack laughs as his cousin grins at him cheekily.

“Guess you’re just too old to understand,” he agrees.

“Oi! Who’s old, ya bastard!” They both erupt into laughter.

“So, uh, my friend,” Jack says, after they’ve both settled back down. “My _American_ friend, living _in_ America, mind you - he wants to start a band with me, can you believe that?”

“Sounds like a good time,” Seamus says, and Jacks sighs.

“No!” he protests. “Sounds like something impossible, is more like it. You know how many hours behind us he is?”

“New York is what, three hours? Four?”

“Yeah, but he’s on the other side of the damn country - he’s seven hours behind!”

“That would make it complicated,” he conceded.

“I don’t know why he asked me about it,” Jack said, swirling the last of his beer around the glass before finishing it off. “Drummers are a dime a dozen out in California, I’m sure.”

“Aw, I remember going to your shows when we were younger,” Seamus says fondly, and Jack groans. “You were so wee and cute back then, tryin’ to look all tough with your eyebrow piercing and your heavy metal music.”

“I _was_ tough!” Jack snaps, chuckling in spite of himself.

“You _loved_ it,” his cousin continues. “God, I feel bad for your parents - if I’d had to hear you drumming all hours of the day, why, I’d have skinned you m’self.”

“Hey, I was _good_ ,” Jack insists.

“You _were!_ ” Seamus agrees, to his surprise. “I only saw you a few times but I knew you were good. You should have kept it up even after your band broke up.” He finishes the last of his beer, and points at Jack. “You should take up your American friend on his offer.”

“You’re as crazy as he is,” Jack sighs, leaning back in his seat in defeat.

“Come on, little man, it’s something you love and something you’re good at - there’s no reason for you _not_ to do it.”

“It just isn’t _possible_ ,” he insists, ignoring the stupid nickname.

“You know, that’s what we all said when everyone was talking about you quittin’ your job n’ such to do this Youtube thing,” he retorts, and Jack flushes. He still remembers the awkward conversations with different family members, all trying to dissuade him from what seemed like so obviously the best choice at the time — the most vivid being his oldest sister pulling him aside into a darkened hallway at a family dinner, telling him with an almost morbid expression that he could always, always come to her for anything he needed, money to pay bills or even a place to stay. But it had never come to that, not even close; they all bragged to anyone who’d listen that he was the most successful of the bunch now, much to his own embarrassment. 

They sit silently for a moment, then Seamus leans back in his chair and sighs.

“Y’know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” he says, pushing his fork around his empty plate with a brooding look. Jack raises his eyebrows, suddenly worried, and gestures with one hand.

“Go on, then,” he says.

“Well, what with the vote that happened recently and all, I just wanted to tell you,” Seamus says, then hesitates. “I mean, I just want you to know… I’m gay.”

Jack stares at him a moment, then laughs aloud despite himself. Seamus shoots him a look, but he has a smile as well.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack apologizes, biting his lip but still grinning. “It’s just, you got so serious all of a sudden, I thought maybe your ma was ill or something - I’m sorry, it’s serious, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“It’s okay,” Seamus chuckles. “I’d rather you laugh. Means you’re happy.”

“Well, of course,” Jack agrees. “I… I didn’t know, Seamus.”

“I know you didn’t,” Seamus sighs. “Not many people do. I haven’t really talked to my folks about it. I’m not seeing anyone, so I haven’t really needed to… I don’t really want to tell them, to be honest with you.”

“No?” Jack says, surprised. “They always seemed, y’know, _accepting_ , just as much as my own parents, anyway.”

“Yeah, to other people,” Seamus says. “But, they’ve just got… a vision in their head of how their family ought to be, and a gay son isn’t part of it.” He shrugs, looking away. “I was always jealous of you growing up, how you got to bring anyone you wanted to family things, girlfriends, boyfriends, and they were always welcome. I didn’t even have a boyfriend, I just wished I could do the same, if I did.”

Jack is quiet for a moment, and he reaches across the table to gently pat his cousin’s arm.

“Things are changing,” he says softly. “It might be hard at first, but if you do decide to tell them, I think they’d be proud of you someday.”

Seamus smiles a small smile back at him. “Thanks, little man.” Jack snorts, rapping the man’s arm with his knuckles where he’d just been patting.

“God, you know I hate that,” he grumbles, but Seamus only laughs.

Soon the waitress brings the check — Seamus snatches it up before Jack can get it. As they leave the restaurant and step out onto the sidewalk, Seamus pulls out a cigarette and offers one to Jack, who declines.

“That’s a good lad,” the older man mutters as he fumbles with his lighter. “Don’t ever get in this shitty habit.”

“I know, I know. You tell me that every time.”

“Well, I’m telling you again. And I’m telling you this, too — start drumming again.”

“I haven’t got the time, you know that,” Jack says, waving a dismissive hand.

“There’s always time for the things you love. Even if you don’t do this band with your friend, you should still pick up drumming again. Hell, I’m sure some of us could pitch in to get you a new drum set for your birthday — no, for Christmas, that’s closer.”

“Christ, don’t do _that,_ ” Jack laughs. “I’ve still got my old kit in storage.”

“Good! Take it out of storage.”

“Jeez, I will, just to get you off my back about it.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” his cousin laughs, pulling Jack in for another hug. “Alright, little man, I’d best be going if I want to catch my train.”

“I thought you were staying with your ma for the weekend,” Jack says in surprise.

“Ah, I was, but had a change of plans - we can’t all be our own bosses, y’know,” he retorts with a grin.

“I’ll walk you to the station, if you’d like.”

“Aw, you’re a sweet lad, aren’t ya?” he teases, patting Jack on the back. Jack laughs, swatting his hand away. “Thanks, but I think I can make it without a minder.”

“Alright, well, I’ll see you next time, then.”

“Sure will. Call me if you’re ever on my side of town, eh?”

“You’re starting to sound like my ma,” he laughs. Seamus groans.

“Christ, I’m not nearly that old yet,” he says, and they both laugh. “Alright, I’m off. Bye for now.”

“Travel safe,” Jack calls, waving. His cousin waves back, and Jack watches him go until he turns down another street, leaving behind a tendril of smoke that quickly dissipates in the cool air. He checks the time on his phone, and starts walking home.

 

* * *

 

When Jack settles in at his work computer when he gets home, a hot cup of tea and a box of cookies on the desk beside him, the first thing to greet him is a Skype notification from Mark. His heart beats faster despite himself, but it’s just one message with a few attachments.

“Thought maybe hearing my sweet sweet voice might help convince you ;) Let me know what you think,” the message reads, and Jack chuckles.

The clips aren’t too long so he downloads them all, figuring ten minutes of Mark singing won’t set him behind schedule too far. He grins as the first clip starts with the sound of Mark clearing his throat.

“ _Love of mine, someday you will die, but I’ll be close behind, I’ll follow you into the dark…”_

“Mark, you sentimental bastard,” Jack chuckles. 

But Mark’s voice is just as warm as he remembers, and the smile lingers on his face throughout the song, though the clip ends after the first chorus. The next one is a more upbeat song, something vaguely punky that Jack doesn’t recognize, but likes. He catches himself tapping his fingers on the desk in rhythm with Mark’s voice and grimaces, balling his hand into a fist before setting it down deliberately in his lap.

He doesn’t _want_ to be part of it all - it’s just not for him, not anymore. Mark’s talent is undeniable, but him? As much as he loved drumming, he was never more than average, never part of anything that garnered anyone’s attention. But it quickly feels as if Mark’s already won him over with a handful of two-minute covers.

“Why me?” he sighs, leaning back in his chair and pulling off his beanie, scrubbing a frustrated hand through his hair. “Out of all the damn drummers in the world why would you ask _me_?” 

He listens to the rest of the clips in silence - the last one is another love song full of sentiment and longing, Mark’s voice so sweet it makes his heart start to pound. When it’s over he leans over his keyboard, meaning to reply to Mark’s message, but he can’t figure out what to say. After hesitating over the keys for what feels like forever, he just closes Skype, figuring they’ll talk more tomorrow. He takes a moment to have a long drink of his tea, just warm now, then gets to work recording.

During the break he usually takes between games, he listens to Mark singing again. The other man is unbearably talented, his voice making Jack’s face burn with his stupid little fanboy crush. He hates how much he loves Mark singing this awful love song.

“I can't do it,” he tells himself helplessly, as Mark’s voice croons in his headphones, “ _I’ll wait, I’ll wait, I’ll wait for you…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For the curious, the two songs I quoted lyrics from are the iconic I'll Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie, and Wait For You (Los Angeles) by XO.]


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thanks for all your kind words from the last chapter.
> 
> Updates will probably be a bit more sporadic after this one (not that they've been regular before, heheh), but I'm aiming for at least one chapter a week.
> 
> As always, your feedback is appreciated!

Mark’s alarm goes off at seven in the morning, and he reaches out a half-awake hand to turn it off. The alarm on his phone is labeled, “Skype Jack!!!” When the phone stops buzzing he lets his hand flop sleepily to his chest and lays there with half-closed eyes a moment longer, then he forces himself to sit up. He opens up his laptop and pulls on a tee shirt - even in autumn, Los Angeles weather still makes him feel like he’ll sweat to death in his sleep if he wears a shirt to bed. He opens Skype, then double checks to make sure the morning’s first video is scheduled to upload at eight - it always is, but he always double checks. Skype shows Jack’s online, so he starts the call, leaning back against the bed’s headboard.

Mark grins when Jack’s face appears on the screen, and Jack smiles back at him.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. He clears his throat as Jack chuckles.

“Sleep well?” Jack asks as Mark stretches.

“Yeah, well enough,” Mark says with a shrug. “How’s your day been?”

“Good,” Jack says. “Same as usual.”

“Did you get the message I sent you?” Marks asks, and Jack nods with a slight grin.

“I did,” he says, sounding suddenly uneasy. “I knew you could sing, Mark, but good lord, you’ve got some pipes on you.” Mark laughs.

“Well, thanks,” he says. “So did I convince you?” Jack makes a pained expression and sighs.

“I’m still not sure, Mark,” he says. “I mean, it’s really been years since I’ve done any kind of drumming, and, y’know, the band I was in, it wasn’t anything like the kind of music you want to do, the drumming style is totally different… I guess I don’t see why you’d pick me over someone closer to you with more experience, in the kind of music you wanna do.”

Mark hesitates. It’s all the same stuff Jack had said before - he thought he had done a good job of convincing Jack that his worries were unfounded in their last conversation, but now it seems maybe he hadn’t after all.

“Because, Jack,” he says. “I don’t want to be in a band with just anyone. What’s the fun if you’re not friends with the people you’re making music with?”

“But it’s more than just fun,” Jack interjects. “Mark, you could be really, _really_ successful if you wanted to. But… not with me being part of it, I think.”

Mark doesn’t know what to say. Mostly he feels like there’s no point in being in a band if Jack’s not in it - but he can’t just out and _say_ that to the Irishman, could he?

“I get what you’re saying,” he finally answers, slowly. “But, you know, that’s not what I’m aiming for. I love music and I love singing, and having a music career would be amazing. But I _already_ have an amazing career, Jack. If music is just something I can do to have fun, even if it’s not successful - it’s still worth it, to me.”

Despite his careful words, Mark’s heart is pounding hard in his chest. Being in a band with Jack is all he’s been able to think about since the night he first texted the other man about it - he hadn’t expected Jack to be so hesitant, so unsure. The younger man had always seemed so confident, always eager to throw himself wholeheartedly into something new; Mark had never seen Jack seem so reserved.

Finally Jack breaks the silence with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You’re right,” he admits, his eyes looking away from the screen. “I mean - of course I’d love to make music with you, Mark. Being able to collaborate with you and, and just have _fun_ with you - it’s amazing. Being in a band would be a lot of fun. But… I guess I’m just worried I’d, I don’t know, I’d just be holding you back from something even more amazing.”

“No!” Mark exclaims before he can catch himself. “Jack, I _want_ this. You wouldn’t be holding me back.” Jack looks back at him, his blue eyes open wide. Slowly the other man starts to smile.

“I guess we could give it a try,” he says, and Mark grins.

“I knew I could convince you,” he says, laughing. “It’s gonna be great, Jack, it really is.”

“Mark, if there’s anyone I trust, it’s you,” Jack admits, shaking his head. “Though you’re gonna get me in some hot water someday, I’m sure, ya bastard. I guess I’ll have to get my drum kit out of storage now…”

“Tell me if you need any help with anything,” Mark says. Jack snorts.

“Yeah, you gonna fly out here just to help me get my shit out of a storage unit?” he teases, and Mark feels himself blush.

“Didn’t think of that,” he admits, and they both laugh. “I guess - I guess I’ll send you some demos of stuff I’ve written? And we’ll go from there?”

“That sounds about right,” Jack agrees. “So… does our band have a name?”

“I figured we could pick something together,” Mark says, then adds in a teasing tone, “I figured you’d want some say in naming our baby.” Jack laughs at that.

“Well, let’s work on some songs first, and then we’ll tackle a name,” he says, then sighs. “I’m just worried about time, y’know? We’re both on such rigorous schedules, with Youtube and just everything else you do, too. How are we gonna fit in time for making music, really?”

“Yeah — I don’t know, I feel like the good part is that we don’t have to worry about making time to be together in person,” Mark says. “I’ll send you stuff whenever I can get it out, you send me stuff whenever you find time to record it - I think you think it’s a lot more urgent than it really is, Jack. I just want us to have fun. There’s no deadline for anything.”

“That’s true,” Jack murmurs. Then he sighs. “Mark, you’re a convincing bastard, I’ll give you that.”

“I always get what I want,” Mark answers with a smile, but his voice is low and smooth, and Jack grins that sheepish, embarrassed grin he always gets when Mark uses his serious voice, and looks away from the screen.

“All right, well,” Jack stammers. “I know I’ve got work to get back to, I’m sure you’ve got the same… Keep me updated, alright? You’ve still got my personal email?”

“Yeah, I’ll email you some songs when I get the chance to record,” Mark answers.

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later, Mark.”

“Bye, Jack,” he says, and Jack ends the call. Mark leans back against his pillows with a sigh, but a grin starts to spread over his face. It’s really happening - he’s starting a _band_ with _Jack_. The thought of it settles warmly at the bottom of his ribs. 

He lets himself revel in the joy of it for only a moment, then gets up to start his day.

 

* * *

 

After ending the call, Jack gets up quickly from his chair and paces his recording room in frustration. He had really meant to tell Mark no when he’d logged onto Skype earlier, he _really_ had. But stupid Mark with his stupid face and his stupid voice - Jack had been convinced so easily in spite of everything he’d told himself. He sighs and pauses in front of his computer.

It’s too late now, he decides. He’s just got to roll with it.

He sits back down and glances through his Skype contacts - Wiishu’s online. Seeing the green icon next to her name makes him feel relieved and nervous all at once. He messages her, “You there?”

“Here!” she responds a moment later.

“Can we talk?” Jack types. He scrubs an anxious hand through his hair. The Skype ringtone starts to play, and he answers the call quickly.

Wiishu’s face appears shakily on his screen - between that and the earbuds that disappear into her long auburn hair, she’s obviously using her phone. From the background it seems like she’s in a cafe. She grins at him and he smiles back weakly.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey there,” she says, waving with one hand. “What’s up?”

“I did something stupid,” Jack sighs. She frowns.

“What happened?”

“Well - Mark and I just finished Skyping.”

“Is he mad at you?”

“No, I… I told him I’d do it.”

She gasps, and he braces himself - but then she lets out a little cheer.

“You guys’ll be in a _band? Together?_ ” she exclaims, and he groans.

“You’re not supposed to be excited!” he protests, fighting back chuckles.

“But I am!” she says. “Oh, Jack, when you said you were gonna tell him no I was so sad.”

“You said I should say no!”

“I only said that because that was what you wanted to do,” she sighs. “Really, I thought it would be so cool if you did it.”

“Jesus,” Jack says. “I guess it was just meant to be.”

“You overthink it too much,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s the worst that could happen? If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out, and at least you tried, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Jack sighs. “I don’t know. Mark said he didn’t care about being successful, just about having fun, but… He could be really good, you know? He could be really, _really_ good. And I’m not like that, I’d just be holding him back.”

“ _Jack_ ,” Wiishu says, her tone suddenly serious. “You need to stop thinking you’re not good enough to work with him. You _are._ You need to get out of the idea that he’s like, I don’t know, your cool older brother who’ll always be better than you or something. It’s not true. You guys are on the same level now. You’re, what’s the word, _colleagues_.”

Jack looks away. In his head he knows she’s right - but it’s still hard to not feel like a little child in the presence of a legend whenever he’s working with Mark or his friends. He had never imagined that he’d _really_ be as successful as the people he’d looked up to when starting his channel - but here he is, regularly collaborating with Mark and even goddamn _Pewdiepie_ not even two years after making his first gaming video. Part of him has no idea how it happened - the same part of him that thought he’d never stop feeling like a fraud.

Finally he looks back at the screen, and Wiishu smiles encouragingly at him when he meets her eyes. He smiles weakly and shrugs.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, feeling suddenly on the verge of tears. It was stupid, to be this affected by what Mark clearly considered a fun side project - why did he feel like this? “You are. I don’t know what else to say. You’re right, it’s just… I just worry about it, is all.”

“Oh, babe, I know you do,” she says, giving him a knowing smile. “But you’ve never let that stop you before. Don’t let it stop you now.”


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Sorry for the long gap between chapters. I've had a really busy week without much time to write or edit, but this chapter is a bit longer than the others so hopefully that will make up for it. :)
> 
> As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated!

It’s raining hard the day Jack stops by his parent’s storage unit to pick up his drum kit.

“Of fucking course,” he mutters to himself, yanking the hood of his sweatshirt up as he hops down from the seat of his father’s pickup. Since he doesn’t own a car, his father was always generous with lending him the truck whenever he needed it, and the drum kit couldn’t be transported any other way. He’d been planning to put all the equipment in the truck bed, but with all the rain it was too risky, plus he’d need a tarp or something to cover it all — maybe there’d be one somewhere in the back of the truck or in the storage unit, but he’s not hopeful.

He jogs through the row of storage units, keys jangling in his fist, until he comes to his family’s unit and opens it up hastily. The metal door swings open with a heavy groan and he steps inside to get out of the rain, pulling his hood back down. His shoes squelch on the cement floor — they’re already soaked through, he notes irritably.

The unit is of a modest size and mostly contains old furniture, unneeded after his parents moved into a smaller house, but that they didn’t want to sell or give away. A wooden bookshelf catches his eye, reminding him of the empty wall in his apartment’s entry room — but he’d worry about that later, he tells himself, stepping carefully toward the back of the unit. He can see his drum kit in the back corner, draped with an old white sheet to keep off the dust.

And it is _very_ dusty — he starts sneezing as soon as he gives the sheet a tug. Covering his nose with the crook of his arm, he pulls the sheet off with his other hand in one quick motion, sending all the dust glimmering into the air. But it’s already starting to feel damp in the unit and the dust soon settles, though he’s rubbing it out of his eyes for what feels like an hour.

The drum kit is just as worn as he remembers, but it looks like it’s still in decent condition in spite of all the dust. The name of his old band is scrawled on the front of the bass drum in messy teenage handwriting, and Jack chuckles. It feels like a lifetime ago.

He glances back out of the storage unit — the rain is still coming down just as hard as before. With a groan, he starts looking for a tarp.

He could always just buy a new kit, save himself the trouble; it’s not like he can’t afford it. But the thought of it is unpleasant somehow. In an old drawer he finds a folded-up blue plastic tarp, but his joy is short-lived as he unfolds it to find it’s barely big enough to fully cover the bass drum, much less the entire truck bed. Jack huffs in frustration, but tosses it toward the equipment anyway. _Better than nothing, I guess_ , he thinks bitterly.

Looking through the rest of the stuff turns up nothing else of use, so he goes back to his equipment and picks up the tarp again. He doesn’t think there’s anything bigger in the truck, but it’s the only place he hasn’t looked — so he glances with dread back out at the rain, pulls his hood back up, lifts the tarp over his head, and makes a run for it.

It’s a short run, and he clambers back into the truck and shakes the tarp out a bit before slamming the door shut behind him. He takes a moment to wallow in his frustration, then twists around to look through the contents of the back seat. Except it’s not really a back seat — though his bandmates used to cram into the back like sardines whenever they’d had to drive to a show. All it is is about an arm’s length of space between the two front seats and the rear window, a place for random junk to collect. But his dad has always been on the tidier side so there’s not much back there — a roadmap, jumper cables, an old book with half the cover torn, a candy bar wrapper. Jack crawls into the space to reach under the seats, but all he finds are a few forgotten coins.

“Dammit!” he growls, shoving the miscellany into one corner — but the more he looks at it, the more he thinks he might be able to cram everything in here with him. He could fit the bass drum in the front seat, lay the cymbal stands and the kick pedal down in the back and stack the snare and tom on top, and wedge the seat somewhere; it’s not ideal, but better than nothing. Otherwise, he won’t be able to borrow the truck again until next weekend, and he’d told Mark he’d send him some audio by the end of the week, and making time in his schedule to drive out _again_ would be a real pain in the arse. So with a resigned sigh, he grabs the tarp again and runs back to the storage unit.

The tarp ends up dripping all over him, and he’s still soaked through by the time he gets back.

“Stupid Mark,” he grumbles, trying to wipe his face dry, but to no effect — plus with all the dust, his skin is starting to feel grimy. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, luckily only slightly damp, and snaps a photo, the drum equipment in one corner and his frowning face, wet hair clinging to his forehead, in the other.

He sends the photo to Mark with the caption, “See what I do for you!! Its raining fecking balls out here!!” He puts the phone down and sets to work wrapping the bass drum in the tarp to carry it back out to the truck.

By the time he’s carried the drum out to the truck and made a second trip to the unit, Mark’s texted him back. “Aw Jack! Need me to kiss it better?”

“Bad idea, all this dust is turning to mud on me face,” he texts back quickly, grinning in spite of himself. “Thanks anyway, ya jerk.”

It’s a tight fit, but after three trips everything is in the truck, the storage unit is locked back up, and Jack is soaking the driver’s seat as he struggles to peel off his wet hoodie. The rain is coming down even harder, hitting the windshield with such force that the road outside is blurry and indistinct.

He turns the car on just to get the heater going and decides to wait and see if the rain lets up at all — for all the days he’s driven in the rain, it still makes him anxious. He pulls his phone back out. Mark had messaged him again: “Don’t get sick out there!!”

“Like I haven’t been out in the rain before,” he types back, adding a winking emoji with its tongue out at the end. But Mark doesn’t respond, surely busy with his own work. Jack shifts uncomfortably in the damp seat and his damper clothes, and messages Wiishu.

“You wouldn’t believe how much shit I’m going through for Mark and his crazy idea,” he messages her, then takes a picture of the indistinct landscape beyond the windshield and sends it as well, for added effect. She responds a moment later: “Stay dry!” followed by a string of laughing emojis.

“Rude!!” he types back. “I’m already soaked through, and I still gotta take all this shit up to my apartment! I’m freezing too!”

“Aww, bae, kiss you til you’re warm,” she responds, with a wall of kissing emojis. He chuckles, feeling warmer already.

Then he gets a text from Mark: “You know, LA has much nicer weather… ;) “

“Yeah? Gonna pay to fly me out there?” he types back, grinning.

“You know it. There’s room in my apartment for two!”

“Wow, at least take me out to dinner first,” Jack responds. By now the rain is letting up just enough that he can actually see the road ahead of him, and Mark and Wiishu’s messages have lightened his mood considerably, so he puts the truck in drive and heads back to his apartment.

The sound of the snare drum rattling with each bump in the road is old and familiar, and for a moment as he drives Jack is in high school all over again, driving his mates out to some shitty open-mic night at a bar, the lot of them packed in tight and shouting and laughing and cussing the way they couldn’t when they were in class together. The memory makes him smile. Being in a band was the most fun he ever had with his friends.

He thinks of Mark as he nears his apartment, of what it would be like to be driving to a show with Mark in the passenger seat beside him, the drums rattling in the back as Mark strums a guitar and hums softly in the front. Jack thinks of how easy it would be to reach over to run his fingers along the other man’s thigh, how nice it would be to reach across and hold his hand. He imagines Mark looking over at him, squeezing his hand back, smiling as bright as the sun —

And then he parks the car, and steps back out into the rain. 

 

* * *

 

The time spent waiting for Jack to get back to him about the demos he’s sent is a special sort of hell for Mark.

He likes Jack a lot. Maybe too much. But he can admit that to himself, sure, and he can accept that it’s just how he feels. Maybe it’s even a crush, but of course he’s not in high school anymore so he wouldn’t call it _that_. 

His feelings for Jack are complicated, and that’s okay. He can live with that.

But his feelings about his _music_ are just as complicated, and throwing the two sets of complicated feelings together was, in retrospect, probably not the best idea he’d ever had despite how appealing it had been at the time. He knows that Jack is just as busy as he is and they’d agreed on a flexible timeline for their little project — but waiting an entire _week_ to hear Jack’s thoughts and contributions to his music, his own songs that he’d written, the tiny fragile babies he’d sent out into the world? It is _agony_ , absolute torture.

So he doesn’t let himself be idle long enough to think about it. Jack’s supposed to get back to him, ideally with some music clips of his own, on Saturday; until then, all Mark does is sleep, eat, and work. On Thursday he realizes he’s recorded and edited enough to have videos scheduled to upload for another week — which is probably a good thing, what with throwing another project into his already-cramped schedule and all. But he likes being busy.

And most importantly of all, he doesn’t text Jack first. Mark knows that if the conversation is in his hands, all he’d be able to think about is _Jack what do you think of the songs, are they good, do you like them, do you like me??_ And for all the acceptance and peace Mark has toward his _complicated_ feelings toward Jack, acting on them is another matter entirely.

So they don’t talk much over the week that Jack ruminates on the three demos Mark sent him — Jack sends him a few tweets about a game he’s been playing that Mark played last year, and texts him bitterly about the rain that ruins his day when he goes to get his drum set out of storage (which, of course, sends Mark spiraling into another anxious cycle of _oh my god it’s happening we’re really doing this_ ). But Mark only responds to the topics at hand, and nothing more.

On Friday night, as he lays in bed and tries to sleep but only manages to think about their scheduled Skype chat tomorrow afternoon, Mark wonders if keeping Jack at arm’s length during the week is setting things up for failure before they even start. It’s certainly something he’s done in the past, in romantic and business relationships alike (and his relationship with Jack is all tangled up in too many categories as it is). His heart starts to pound at the thought, but he doesn’t let himself get carried away — most weeks they don’t talk much, anyway. They’re both busy guys. The only difference is that this week Mark didn’t initiate contact. There’ve probably been plenty of weeks like it before, for no reason other than that they’re _busy._ Jack is his colleague, his friend, no matter how complicated Mark’s own feelings are. If anyone could understand just not having the emotional resources to maintain a friendship on a daily basis, it would be Jack. He forces himself to stop thinking about it, and puts on some white noise to help him fall asleep.

The next morning he wakes up just as anxious as the night before, but he starts his day slow, checking on the videos he has scheduled to upload, then he showers and makes himself breakfast and eats while catching up on his own subscriptions. He doesn’t have the time to watch other people’s videos as often as he likes anymore, so he ends up binge-watching Game Grumps and Pewdiepie and some of Jack’s videos for good measure, through the morning and into the afternoon. Their Skype chat is scheduled for two in the afternoon for Mark, so when it hits one-thirty he finally shuts off the TV he’d been watching on, silencing Felix mid-scream, tidies his hair in the bathroom, and decides to sit at the kitchen table for the call. Jack is already online as he logs into Skype, so he messages him, “Hey bud, you ready?”

“Almost!” Jack types back. “Gimme a minute.”

Mark pulls on his headphones and scrolls through Facebook for a few minutes until the Skype ringtone starts playing. He accepts the video call and smiles, giving a little wave, as Jack’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, and Jack waves back at him.

“Hey, Mark,” he answers. “How’s your day been?”

“Relaxing,” Mark chuckles, tightly clasping his hands that have started to tremble. They’ve barely exchanged pleasantries and he’s _already_ swooning over the other man — he feels himself starting to blush, more out of embarrassment than affection. “But it’s still early in the day for me, so we’ll see. How about you?”

“Good. Same as usual,” Jack replies, shrugging. “Here, I want to get right into it. Okay, so, I added some drum tracks to the demos you sent me, they’re pretty rough but I’ll send them to you and we can talk about them…” He trails off a bit, and the files pop up in the chat. Mark starts downloading them.

“What did you think?” he asks nervously, unable to think of anything else. “I mean, were they any good?”

“Yeah, I liked them,” Jack says in a reassuring tone. He grins. “You’ve got a great voice, that’s for certain. You’ve got a good ear for lyrics, too, I think. It’s a good start.”

“Thanks,” Mark replies, feeling only slightly less anxious. “That, uh, means a lot to me.” Jack looks away from the screen and Mark thinks he might be blushing — but it’s probably just the webcam quality and wishful thinking on his part.

“Well, the drum parts I recorded are pretty basic,” Jack confesses after clearing his throat; now he definitely looks embarrassed. “I’m really out of practice, to be honest, and I, uh, I think so far the biggest issue is that we’re not really sure what, like, style or genre we want to sound like, yet.”

“Here, I’ll listen,” Mark says as the first clip finishes downloading. Jack nods and sits quietly as Mark listens, and he quickly picks up on what the younger man says. It sounds alright, but Jack’s right about the drums - it’s simple, mostly just keeping time with Mark’s voice and the guitar with the occasional cymbal crash for flavor. He pauses the song.

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” he agrees. “I’m not sure how it should be changed, though. What do you think would work better?”

“Are there any bands you like? That you want to, y’know, kind of emulate the sound of?” Jack asks.

Mark pauses, brows furrowing. Much as he’s loathe to admit it, for all his zeal for making music and starting a band, he doesn’t really listen to much music. He thinks on it for an embarrassingly long moment, then offers, “Um, maybe something like Mumford and Sons, but without the banjo?”

For a moment they’re both silent; then Mark chokes on his stifled giggles which prompts Jack to laugh out loud. Mark covers his mouth, embarrassed, but Jack’s wide grin and eyes sparkling with laughter only makes his heart pound faster.

“Oh, Mark,” Jack sighs, leaning back in his chair as their giggles finally subside. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll send you a list of a couple bands I _think_ have the kind of sound you’d like, and you listen to them and all the related bands or whatever that come up in Pandora or Spotify or _whatever_. And you do some homework and give me a list of bands to listen to when you decide how you want these to sound. Alright?”

Jack’s gentle tone and soft, easy smile on the screen makes him suddenly bold. Mark leans closer to his laptop’s microphone and says in a low, sultry voice, “You know I like it when you boss me around, Jack.”

Jack laughs and looks away from the screen — he’s certainly blushing now. Mark grins, feeling his own face flush with warmth.

“Oh, is that how it is?” Jack replies with a weak chuckle, grinning back at him mischievously. “Alright, well, then, Mark, you do as you’re told and get me a list by this time next week, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Mark agrees smoothly, and Jack laughs again, but fainter this time, looking away and covering his face. Mark’s grinning like an idiot, but all he can think about is how to keep Jack laughing and blushing like he is.

“Quit teasin’ me!” Jack protests, looking back at the screen.

“Aw,” Mark replies, pulling a sad face that only makes Jack chuckle again. “I was just agreeing with you, is all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says, sighing. “Jesus, Mark, how are we gonna get anything done flirtin’ like a couple’a high schoolers?” 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get a _lot_ done,” Mark murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Mark_!” Jack howls, erupting into laughter again.

“Okay, okay,” Mark laughs, his sides aching. “I’m done. Business time.”

They talk a little more about the sound of the demos, but inevitably they keep giggling all over again when their eyes meet on the screen, so they end up just chatting about their day for a little longer, Mark promising to listen to the demos and have actual constructive feedback next weekend. The call’s gone on for nearly an hour when finally Jack says, grimacing, that he’s got more work to do and has to go. Mark lingers over their goodbyes and keeps Skype up for a long time even after Jack’s face has disappeared from his screen.

He gives all the demos another listen. They’re definitely rough, like Jack said, but they give him chills all the same, knowing Jack had listened to all of them, _really_ listened, and played along to his voice.

He gets up and paces from the kitchen to the living room and back again. Part of him feels guilty for being so forward with Jack — the other man was right when he said they’d been flirting — but Jack had _liked_ it, or at least certainly seemed to. And they had always been a little flirty with each other (whether or not they had been serious about it in the beginning didn’t matter, did it?), and, dammit, what else could Mark do? He knows Jack likes him well enough, but he also knows Jack’s dating someone, a _girl,_ so if flirting is all he can get then why shouldn’t he take it? He tells himself all this, but still feels unsettled and embarrassed about it. 

He thinks maybe he’s not so much at peace with his feelings for the other man as he’d thought he was. But what can he do? Jack was flirting back with him, and Mark relished the affection. Maybe it’s greedy of him, yet he’s certain Jack likes it too — but he doesn’t want to think too hard on the implications of _that._ The whole situation seems hopelessly tangled the more he dwells on it.

He makes himself stop thinking about it, and gets to work on Jack’s assignment for him.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! It's been a while - my apologies, haha. It's been a busy few weeks for me, but I have a new chapter ready for you all, and I promise that the next one will be out in just a few days instead of a few weeks this time! Hopefully that will make up for my little hiatus. :) This chapter is pretty Jack-centric, but the next one will be all Mark to make up for it.
> 
> As always, your feedback is super appreciated!

When the call ends with Mark, Jack immediately calls Wiishu, hardly giving it any thought beyond the raw instinct driving him to talk to her. The Skype ringtone plays for an eternity, and when she finally answers, it’s voice-only.

“Hey, you,” she says, her voice crackling through the speaker. “I’m out walking around right now so no video, but I can talk. What’s up?”

“Mark was — was _flirting_ with me,” he blurts immediately, eyes locked on the blank screen, willing her face to appear. “ _We_ were flirting.”

She chuckles. “What else is new?”

“No, I mean, like… like _really_ flirting. Even just when we were talking normally, it felt like… like, I don’t know, like when _we_ first started talking.” The words are gushing out of his mouth; he’s not sure if he’s even making any sense. “I mean, I know _you_ know that we’ve always been… I don’t know, we’ve always sort of flirted, but never _really_ seriously, I mean… But this was — it was different. It was _serious_.”

For a long moment the only sound coming from Wiishu’s end was the rustling of the wind and the faint rhythm of footsteps. Then she asks, perfectly calm, “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I _love_ you,” Jack says, his voice cracking. He takes in a deep breath. He’s said it before, when she first came to visit him, but they’ve never said it often and the words feel heavy on his chest. He starts again, “I love _you_. You’re the one I’m with. And I don’t… I don’t want you to think I’m some stereotype, some promiscuous bisexual who can’t be committed. I don’t ever want to give you reason to think that.”

“Jack,” she says, her voice soft. He can almost see her sweet smile and soft eyes as she says it. “I love you, too, and I’ve never thought that about you. I _know_ you. I’ve never, ever worried about that, and I’m not worried about that now. I love you, and I trust you, and I’m not upset that you feel that way toward Mark.”

“But…” he starts, almost a whimper. The words stick in his throat. He scrubs an embarrassed, frustrated hand through his hair, his eyes burning. “But I don’t want to be just friends with Mark. I don’t… I want…” He trails off, pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes. He’s said it; he can’t take it back now.

Her silence is agonizing, but he says nothing to break it. He waits, head in his hands, until her soft sigh breaks through the faint background noise.

“I’m still not upset. I’m just thinking about how to say this,” she says. Her tone is as measured as ever; more than anything he wants to see her face. “Jack, I think that you think this is some big news to me, but really, it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve always known you liked him a lot, how you liked me at first, and I know he likes you a lot too.” Then she says something in Danish and he faintly hears another voice reply. Then she chuckles. “Sorry, I bumped into someone. It’s hard to talk like this when I’m walking. I’m almost home. Can I call you back when I get there?”

“Okay,” he says faintly. Her words are reassuring, but only slightly — he still feels like he might puke.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “It won’t be long. I’m not bothered or anything, okay? So don’t feel bad. I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m — I’m not upset,” he says, and he thinks it’s true. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“I love you,” she says, forcefully, to make him believe it. “I’ll call you again in, like, fifteen minutes, okay?”

“I love you too,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow and pathetic even to his own ears. He clears his throat. “Bye.”

“Bye,” she says, her voice softer this time, and the call ends.

He gets up out of his chair quickly, shoving it back. It clatters into the wall. His hands are in fists — he bangs one down on his desk, and unclenches the other to rub the back of his neck. His eyes are burning and his stomach hurts; but most of all he doesn’t know why he feels so angry, and it only makes him feel worse. 

What had he expected? Wasn’t it _good_ that she seemed completely unruffled by his confession? But part of him had wanted her to be surprised — yet she had already known, as if it had been obvious, and if he was really that obvious… He’s embarrassed, he realizes, more embarrassed than upset. He had told her, and she already knew.

He goes to the kitchen and fixes himself some tea. Going through the motion of it calms him down a little, the warm tea a little more. He steps out onto the balcony for some fresh air, to clear his head.

It’s dark out, and quiet, and finally Jack’s heart stops pounding and his cheeks stop burning. Maybe he really had made a bigger deal of it all than it really was.

Fifteen minutes pass, then twenty, but Jack doesn’t go back inside. He’s sure Wiishu’s online by now, that she’s waiting for him to log back on so they can talk, but the tiny world of his balcony is infinitely more appealing than having the heart wrenching, emotionally charged conversation he’s sure they’re going to have. Even if it really is as small an issue as she made it out to be, it still means something in their relationship has to give — and he doesn’t want to think about what that will have to be. Part of him hopes that if he just doesn’t go back online tonight, if he pretends it never happened tomorrow, that things will keep on going the way they had before. But a bigger part of him wants to just get it over with and see where it takes them; and soon that part drives him back inside, closing the sliding glass door behind him quietly, thinking of his neighbors with the baby.

Wiishu is online when he gets back to his computer, and she calls him shortly after he opens Skype. This time her smile greets him when he answers the call, and he smiles back weakly.

“Sorry for taking so long,” he says before she can say anything. “I just needed a minute, to… to gather my thoughts, I guess.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” she says. Her smile is sweet, her eyes soft, and Jack wishes he could kiss her through the screen. “Will you tell me what happened?” He lets out a long, measured breath.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says slowly. “It wasn’t really that different from how we usually talk, but… I don’t know. It just felt like he was _really_ flirting with me, not the kind of messing around you do with you friends, you know? And I… I don’t know. His tone was more serious, and I… I was more serious, too, I guess.” He pauses, looking away. “I didn’t want him to stop. I liked how he was talking to me, how I was talking to him.”

When he looks back to the screen, she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, looking away from him. Her eyes flick back to his and she opens her mouth, then hesitates. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jack encourages her, and she smiles a bit.

“I’m thinking of how to say it,” she replies, then says, “Jack, do you think Mark would say yes if you asked him to date you?”

Jack’s cheeks immediately flush, and he stammers something intelligible before managing, “I — I mean, probably, I think.” She chuckles, putting a hand to her mouth, and he laughs weakly with her.

“I haven’t talked about this with you before,” she says slowly. “But a few years ago, when I started at university, I was… What’s the word? I was in an open relationship. The boy I was dating was dating another girl at the same time, and we all knew, and we were all okay with it.”

Jack’s heart is pounding in his ears, so furiously he barely hears her next words. “That relationship didn’t work out, but it didn’t have anything to do with his other girlfriend. I’m not interested in seeing anyone else, but if you wanted to really pursue this with Mark, I’m not opposed… Jack?” He realizes he’s shaking his head.

“I — I don’t know,” he says quickly. “I don’t know if I’m up for that.”

“I think you should at least talk to him about you feel,” she says. “So you’re both on the same page.”

“No,” Jack blurts, the word escaping his mouth before he can even think about it. “I mean… I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Even if it means just… dealing with this stupid crush on my own.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid,” Wiishu snaps, finally starting to sound frustrated. “Jack, it’s obvious he feels the same way about you, at least to some degree. If you don’t want to be open with him about it, fine, but don’t say it’s because you don’t want to ruin what you have.”

Jack stares down at his hands clenched in his lap, his eyes watering — he rubs them with one fist, embarrassed. He _knows_ she’s right, but everything she’s saying seems impossible, a sweet daydream that could never be true.

“Oh, babe,” he hears her say softly. “Jack, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“No, no,” he says, trying to laugh in self-deprecation, but it comes out like a choked cry. He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, and swallows his tears. “You’re — You don’t need to apologize, you’re right. It’s just…” He shakes his head.

“You can tell me.”

“It’s just… I already feel like I can’t talk about being bi,” he croaks out, shame burning across his face. “If a bunch of strangers on the Internet think I’m… promiscuous, or something, whatever, but… If _Mark_ thought that about me, if I talked to him about it — ” His voice cracks, and he takes in a steadying breath. “Just thinking about it gets me all… all fucked up inside.”

Wiishu is quiet for a long moment, then she says softly, “I didn’t think about it that way. I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t think Mark would think something like that, but I didn’t even consider it and I should have.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I think — I think you’re right. But it’s just… I don’t know. It’s just too much risk for something I’m not even sure if I really want.”

“Okay,” she replies slowly. “Okay. It’s your decision, Jack. I really think that being open with him would be good for both of you. But it’s up to you in the end. And it doesn’t change anything with us. I love you, and whatever you feel about Mark, it doesn’t make me stop loving you.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice cracking again. “I love you too. That really… It really means a lot to me, a lot.” He wipes his eyes again, and manages another laugh. “God, I’m being silly, cryin’ over nothing.”

“Aw, you’re cute when you cry, though,” she coos, and he laughs again, stronger this time.

“Don’t say that!” he protests, grinning at her through the screen. “I get all gross and snotty when I cry.”

“Still cute,” she says. “If I was there with you I’d kiss your eyes dry, snot and all.”

“Gross,” he laughs, and she laughs with him.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Here's a new chapter for you. Mark has a good time with his friends and realizes his feelings are not so secret. I also want to add that I've only ever seen a handful of Game Grumps episodes and so my characterizations of Danny and Arin are just based on what I've seen of them on tumblr and such. If something about them is glaringly off, let me know!
> 
> As always, your feedback is always appreciated! (especially when I don't catch my own typos like in the last chapter haha....ha...) Thanks again! :)

“Hey, Mark? …Mark!”

Mark’s head snaps up in surprise from where he’d been leaning over his guitar on the couch. He had finished his filming for the day hours ago, but the Game Grumps space seemed a more inviting place to hang out than his quiet apartment today. Arin sits across from him on the dark leather couch, and when he looks up Mark sees Danny in the doorway — they’re both watching him with expectant expressions.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, and they both start to laugh. He laughs along as he pushes his glasses up, but he blushes in embarrassment.

“Well, we _were_ asking if you wanted to go out with us for a beer or two,” Arin chuckles, shaking his head. “But I guess your music is more important.”

“I know how that is,” Danny says with a knowing grin and a nod that makes his long hair flop into his face.

“Sorry,” Mark says again, resting the guitar on his lap. “No, no, I’m down to go out. I’ve been working on this all day. It’ll be nice to get out for a bit. What time is it?”

“Quarter past five,” Danny says.

“Jeez,” Mark sighs, standing up to stretch. “I really _have_ been here all day, I didn’t even realize…”

“Sometimes I wonder if you even really have your own apartment,” Arin chuckles. “You’re really just sleeping in your car and that’s why you’re here at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh, please,” Mark retorts, rolling his eyes. “Maybe if you had a shower in here, then I’d break my lease.” They laugh, then Danny makes a waving gesture, urging them out of the room.

“Well, come on, then,” he says. “Let’s go!”

“Who’s driving?” Mark asks, slinging his guitar over his shoulder as they head out into the hallway.

“We’re just gonna walk, it’s only a few blocks,” Danny says.

“Look at you, with your guitar on your shoulder like a rockstar,” Arin laughs.

“A _sexy_ rockstar,” Danny agrees, and Mark laughs. “I gotta do a pose like that for our next album art.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark chuckles. “Alright, well, just let me drop this off in my car and then we’ll go.”

They leave the building, then Mark stows the guitar in the trunk of his car. Danny and Arin keep walking, and he jogs to catch up to the taller men despite their leisurely pace.

“So what are you working on?” Danny asks him as he joins them.

“Oh, well,” Mark says, and he starts to say _it’s nothing_ , but then pauses. “I’ve been, uh, working on some original stuff.”

“Gonna break into the music scene?” Arin grins. “You’ve certainly got the voice, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks,” Mark says with a faint chuckle — his cheeks feel warm and he’s sure they can hear the forced casual tone of his voice. “I’ve always really been into music, I guess, and lately me and, uh, Jack have been working on some stuff together, so that’s been cool.”

“Jacksepticeye Jack?” Danny asks, eyebrows rising. Arin’s expression is just as surprised, but he nods knowingly. “I didn’t know he did music, either.”

“Yeah, he, uh, he used to be a drummer,” Mark says, and forces himself to chuckle. “I, uh, brought up the idea with him of, like, starting a band or whatever, and… yeah.”

“A Youtube band,” Arin chuckles. “Though I’m sure you’re not the first. That’s cool, Mark!”

“Yeah, for sure,” Danny agrees.

“Thanks,” Mark says, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment despite himself. Arin and Danny are his friends, but part of him — _most_ of him — is still too embarrassed about the music thing and the Jack thing and the music and Jack things _together_ to be able to talk about it without being a stammering mess. He’d mentioned starting a band in passing to his brother during a phone call last week, but otherwise, they are the only people he’s talked about it with besides Jack himself.

“Here we are,” Danny says, and they step into a narrow bar squeezed between a coffee shop and a little clothing boutique with all the lights off. The bar is small and quiet and, honestly, looks pretty hipster-y to Mark with all the wood paneling and signs advertising local craft beers — but small and quiet is nice. They settle into a booth near the back. There’s another group at a booth closer to the entrance and a handful of people sitting at the bar, but it’s mostly empty, how Mark likes it.

“What are you having?” Danny asks Mark. He starts to reach for his wallet, but Danny interrupts him, “Hey, first round’s on me. No, it’s fine, it’s on me! Now what do you want?”

“Fine, fine,” Mark grumbles. “I’ll just have whatever you have.”

“Two Long Island Iced Teas, got it,” Danny says with a wicked grin. Mark groans.

“You said _beers_!” he protests.

“I like you drunk,” the other man teases, still grinning widely as he moves toward the bar.

“That’s a lie,” Mark snorts. “Jeez, just get me a, a PBR or something if you’re gonna be like that.” Danny rolls his eyes and walks off, leaving Mark and Arin chuckling at the booth.

“Don’t worry, we really are just gonna get beers,” Arin assures him once Danny’s out of earshot. Mark laughs.

“That’s what I was hoping,” he says.

After a moment, Danny returns with three bottles of Blue Moon, each with a wedge of an orange stuffed into the bottle neck.

“Don’t go too crazy, now,” Danny teases with a wink as he gives one bottle to Mark.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark chuckles, pushing the orange wedge down into the beer. Arin pulls the orange wedge out and takes a long sip — Danny gives the wedge a good squeeze, juice dripping down the bottle neck, before pushing it down into the liquid as well.

“You know,” Arin sighs after they’ve all taken a drink. “I don’t really like Blue Moon.”

“Oh, well, fuck me, right?” Danny retorts, and Mark laughs. “It’s fine, because you’re getting your own drink next round.”

“It’s not even good!” Arin exclaims in protest, but he grins as he says it and takes another drink anyway.

“So, Mark,” Danny says after a quiet moment. “Tell me more about the band you’re starting.”

“Oh, it’s nothing yet, really,” Mark admits, shrugging with a grin. “I mean, I have a couple songs I’ve written that we’ve been working on, but, I mean, we don’t even have a bassist yet or anything.”

“You said Jack plays drums?”

“Yeah, he’s on drums, and I’m doing vocals and guitar. I think it’ll just be a three-piece thing.”

“What kind of sound are you going for?” Arin asks. This time, the question doesn’t make Mark feel like a complete idiot.

“Well, I’m still listening to a lot of different stuff, trying to figure out what I like, what I wanna do,” he admits. “I don’t really listen to a lot of music, honestly, but I’m trying to listen to more stuff since, y’know, how can you make music if you don’t listen to it?”

“Sure,” Danny agrees.

“It sounds pretty cliche, but ‘indie songwriter’ is pretty much exactly what I’m doing, and I think that indie sound is what I wanna go for,” Mark chuckles. “It’s a little weird, though, since Jack’s drumming background is in, like, hardcore rock and stuff. So it’s pretty different.”

“No kidding!” Danny exclaims, and they laugh.

“Yeah, we’re still working that out,” Mark admits, smiling sheepishly. “But I think once I decide what our sound is gonna be like and we have a bassist that’ll help pull everything together.”  
“Yeah, definitely,” Arin agrees.

“I might know a couple people who might be interested in playing bass with you,” Danny says. “You want their numbers?”

“I have a few people I’m thinking of,” Mark admits. “But, yeah, sure. Couldn’t hurt.”

Danny takes a long swig of his beer before continuing, “And, hey, if you ever want to use some of my heavy-duty recording stuff, or if you need connections to a producer or anything, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Wow, yeah, that’d be great. I appreciate it,” Mark says, surprised. The two other men grin at him.

“Well, it seems like you’re really committed to it,” Arin chuckles. “You were sounding pretty good earlier.”

“We’re happy to help out,” Danny agrees.

Mark looks away, grinning shyly. He hadn’t expected the project to go very far — mostly it was an excuse to talk with Jack more often, if he was completely honest with himself — but Arin and Danny’s support makes him think that maybe they really do have some promise. He makes a mental note to actually call some of the bassists he’s considering in the morning.

The conversation moves on, and after a little while Arin gets up then comes back with three more beers.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Arin insists as Mark protests. “It’s to make up for Danny forcing you to suffer through a whole bottle of Blue Moon.”

“What the fuck ever,” Danny laughs, rolling his eyes, but he accepts the new bottle anyway — a Corona Light, with a lime wedge.

Danny and Arin keep chatting, but the more he drinks the less Mark can focus on the conversation. He keeps thinking of Jack — of their Skype call the other day, of how little he’s heard from the man since then, of how great it would be if Jack was here with them sharing beers in this little hipster bar with his friends. 

“Damn, Mark, you’ve got some serious Asian glow going on,” Arin points out with a laugh, bringing Mark back to reality.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he says, laughing along as he runs a hand down his cheek, though he’s not sure how much of his flushed face is the alcohol and how much of it is his thoughts of Jack. 

He pulls out his phone and messages the other man. “ _Having some beers and thinking of you. Can’t wait til we can go barhopping together again ;) "_

The time difference between them is enough that he figures Jack won’t see the message until the morning — but, then, he always underestimates how little the other man sleeps, and wonders why he’s surprised when Jack messages him back a few minutes later.

“ _I’ll have a Guinness for you here and pretend!_ ” the message reads, and Mark chuckles.

“Rude much?” Danny remarks, and Arin laughs. “She better be hot for you to be ignoring us to text her, dude!”

“No, no, it’s Jack,” Mark protests, then immediately regrets it as the two other men share a look.

“Jack, huh?” Arin teases. “I didn’t realize you two were so close.”

“You texting him for business, or pleasure?” Danny goads, and the two men snicker. Mark rolls his eyes.

“He’s my friend,” Mark scoffs. “And, yeah, we’ve been talking more since doing the music thing — “

“ _Doing_ it, eh?” Danny interrupts, and Mark laughs with them this time.

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Mark chuckles. “No, he has a girlfriend, alright? Like things aren’t already complicated enough.”

Again he immediately regrets opening his stupid mouth as the two men share another look — Arin’s eyebrows have disappeared into his hair.

“ _Complicated_?” Danny chuckles. “Let’s hear about it.”

“Ugh, no, God,” Mark groans. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” They start laughing again, and Mark leans back in the booth, shaking his head in resignation.

“Listen,” Danny says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “If you guys _are_ banging, you gotta tell me, okay? I’ve got twenty bucks invested in this.”

Mark chokes his beer and sputters wordlessly for a moment before managing, “What? Who the fuck is _betting_ on me?” They both erupt into laughter, and Mark laughs along helplessly.

“It was after IndyPopCon,” Arin starts, only to dissolve into giggles again.

“Go on, go on,” Danny urges him. Arin keeps laughing, but manages to compose himself after a moment, one hand on his chest.

“Well,” he continues, shaking his head and grinning widely, “Danny was like, ‘wow, I bet they’re doing it’, and I was like, ‘no, I don’t think so’, so he was like, ‘I’ll bet you twenty dollars they’ll have done it by the next con they go to together’, and — c’mon, dude, it was twenty bucks! How could I _not_ take it?”

“Jesus,” Mark laughs. He isn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or encouraged — embarrassed his crush is this obvious, or encouraged that other people notice the chemistry between them, too. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but, uh, nothing of that nature has happened between me and Jack.”

“Damn,” Danny sighs, leaning back. “Oh well. I’ve still got time. It’ll happen.”

Mark stops himself before saying, “I hope so”, and decides he’s done drinking for the night.


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Told you I'd be better with regular updates this time, haha. A little more OC action happens this chapter, but as always Mark and Jack will remain the main focus, don't worry.
> 
> Your feedback, comments, and kudos are always appreciated!! Thanks so much <3

Mark wakes up a little groggy the next morning, especially since it’s still the ass crack of dawn and the sun isn’t up, but he forces himself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water soothes away the last lingering burn of alcohol in his belly, and the warm coffee he sips on as he drives down to his recording space dispels the beginnings of a headache. 

As he’s getting out of his car he notices a folded-up sheet of paper in the passenger seat — the list of names and phone numbers Danny had scrawled down for him the night before, music producers he knew and had worked with. He reaches over and grabs it, squinting to read it in the fresh morning light. They won’t have any need for a music producer any time soon, he thinks, but what they _do_ need is a bassist. He folds the paper back up, a little more carefully this time, and slips it into his messenger bag as he steps into the building.

By the time he sits down in front of the camera to start recording, he’s feeling as good as ever. With the little stockpile of videos he’s still holding onto from the other week, he decides to only film and edit one video today — because today’s the day he’s going to find a bassist.

Twitter had been begging him to play a little Flash game that was short but popular, so he cranks it out and edits it down without too much trouble. He double checks that the morning’s first video is online and the next one is scheduled, then packs his stuff up to go. 

As he’s leaving, he runs into Arin in the hallway — the other man, who had kept drinking with Danny long after Mark had turned down another drink, is looking a little under the weather. He lifts a skeptical eyebrow at Mark who’s breezing past him with a wave.

“Done already?” he asks. “It’s like… Ten thirty in the morning, dude!”

“I’m getting shit done today!” Mark replies with a grin. Arin chuckles and waves him out.

Mark drives a little further into the city, sunglasses on, and pulls into the parking lot of a quiet cafe he’s been to a few times before. He orders a panini and an iced latte, then settles into a table in the corner with his laptop and his notebook.

He finds the list he’d made, back when he’d first approached Jack, of possible bassists for the project and digs around for all their emails. Two girls with iced coffees pause as they’re leaving the cafe, one pointing at him and saying something to the other — he waves at them with a faint smile. Luckily, they only giggle and wave back, stepping through the door and back out onto the street.

It takes him a good half hour to put together a decent draft, so he decides to just change the names for each person, copy-paste it, throw in a few personal details, and send basically the same thing to everyone on his list. Emails aren’t his strong suit, he admits to himself as he double-checks it. There are two people he doesn’t have the emails of, but he’s friends with both on Facebook and one is a friend of his brother.

He texts Tom, “Do you remember Jang-mi Song from hs? She plays bass and I’m trying to get ahold of her for a project, would you happen to have her email?”

He gets two bites into his panini before Tom texts him back: “JJ who always dyed her hair?? Dude… Just msg her on Facebook.” He rolls his eyes.

“Thanks but I’m trying to look professional here,” Mark responds. But without an email, a Facebook message is probably the next best thing, so he brings up their Facebook pages and sends off the messages anyway.

Of course, then he ends up dicking around on the internet for an hour, finishing his latte and the panini. He replies to a few comments and tweets (and, a little envious, wonders how Jack manages to be so much more active with _his_ fanbase), then gets another iced latte and a bag of chips. When he sits back down, three people have emailed him back.

Two of them have turned him down right away, the third saying he’s interested but can’t commit for another few months as he’s busy with his own projects. Mark sends them all a short “thanks anyway” email in response — then his phone starts to ring.

He doesn’t recognize the number, but it’s an LA area code so he picks it up anyway. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mark?” a girl’s voice asks him.

“This is him,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“Hey, Mark, this is Jang-mi Song,” she says, and he grins.

“Hey!” he says. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she says. “Yeah, um, I got your message, and I’m definitely interested in your project, so I figured I might as well call you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mark says. “I’m glad to hear you’re interested.”

“Well, if you had messaged me a few weeks ago, I would’ve said no,” she admits, chuckling. “But, um, the band I was in just broke up, and I’ve been looking for another project to get involved in, so…”

“Wow, really?” he says incredulously. “Good timing, I guess. Sorry to hear about your band, though.”

“Yeah,” she sighs.

“What happened?”

“The same thing that breaks up pretty much every band,” she says, making no attempt to mask the bitterness in her voice. “The guitarist finds out his girlfriend’s been cheating on him with the drummer, everyone’s screaming at each other, and the band’s over.”

“Yikes,” Mark says, and she chuckles.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yikes. It’s a bummer since we just finished touring for our first album, but I guess it can’t be helped.”

“Oh, wow. That really does suck,” Mark says, making a mental note that she’s already been on tour and put out an album, pushing her to the number one candidate on his list.

“It’s alright. They were both kind of jerks anyway,” Jang-mi sighs, and they both laugh. “So tell me more about this project you’re doing.”

“Well, it’s a little… weird,” he admits. “My friend and I want to start a band, but he’s, uh, he lives in Ireland.”

“A little weird, yeah,” she laughs.

“But!” Mark says, grinning. “But. We both work on the Internet, basically, and we’ve collaborated on videos and stuff before, so it’s not completely different from what we already do for a living. We’ve been working on some demos already, I can send them to you if you want to hear them. The only thing we’re really doing differently from a regular band is practicing and recording separately, but we talk all the time, and we both have audio editing experience so putting stuff together isn’t difficult.”

“Yeah, that’s still kind of weird,” Jang-mi replies, still laughing. “But I’m still interested. Weird doesn’t scare me. Send me the demos. What kind of music are you guys doing?”

“Well,” Mark sighs, and he hesitates. “I’m doing guitars and vocals and I think I want to do a more indie rock, singer-songwriter kind of thing. But my friend, the drummer, he used to be in, like, a hardcore rock, screamo kind of band, so I’m, uh, open to a different direction, I think.” She laughs, and he laughs along.

“Yeah, the band I was in was basically all punk, so I’m definitely coming from a different direction,” she says. “But, really, I’m open to anything. Doing something new might be fun.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mark says, relieved. “Well, uh, give me your email and I’ll send you the stuff we’ve been working on and you can tell me what you think?”

“Yeah, for sure,” she says. “I’d love to hear it. I know you and your brother are both really talented, so I’d definitely be open to working with you.”

“That’s great,” he says. “Do you still talk to Tom much?”

“Not really, especially since I moved out of Ohio, but I know his comic is pretty successful,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice. “And I know you’ve been pretty successful, too. I’d be stupid to not at least consider your offer.”

“Well, thanks,” he chuckles. “This is something completely new for me, so, you know, no promises, but I really do think we have something pretty cool going on and you’d only improve it, I’m sure.”

“I’m flattered,” she laughs. “I’ll give your demos a listen and get back to you, alright? And, hey, we’re both in LA now, let’s meet up sometime either way.”

“Sounds great,” he agrees. Something about the smile in her voice makes him hopeful.

 

* * *

 

They end up getting lunch together the next day, meeting at a little bistro on Sunset Boulevard. When Jang-mi approaches him, she’s carrying a bright yellow plastic Amoeba Records bag in one hand, grinning at him apologetically.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as he gets up from his seat. “I just had to make a stop at Amoeba, you know?”

“No worries, no worries,” Mark laughs, opening his arms for a hug. She hugs him with her one free arm. “It’s really good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I know,” she answers. “We were both in Ohio when we saw each other last, I think. Probably for your brother’s high school graduation party, huh?”

“God, it’s been that long,” Mark groans, and she laughs. “Well, thanks for meeting with me.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says. “I wanted to talk about this stuff more.”

She settles into her seat and Mark takes a long look at her. She looks largely the same except her hair is shorter, ending at her shoulders — a single streak of blue, almost as dark as her black locks, is the only remaining hint of the vivid shades she’d used to dye her hair. Her black denim vest over a white tank top is a toned-down version of the spiked and studded punk gear he always saw her wearing. She grins as she notices his stare, her eyes twinkling through her dark eyeliner.

“Like what you see?” she teases, striking a pose in her chair. Mark laughs.

“I was just thinking you look exactly the same as I remember,” he says. “I mean, minus the rainbow hair, but still.”

“Ugh, it took _years_ for my hair to recover from all the bleach. I’ll take it as a compliment,” she chuckles, and looks him up and down. “While we’re talking about looks, _you_ look totally different from high school. I only recognized you ‘cause I’ve seen a couple of your videos.”

“What? You think so?” he laughs.

“Oh, yes,” she agrees, nodding her head. “You were, what, fourteen? Fifteen? But now you’ve got actual facial hair and a jawline. You’re a _man_.”

The way she says it makes him realize she’s flirting with him. He laughs nervously, looking away to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks, and pulls his hands off the table to settle firmly in his lap.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll take it as a compliment,” he stammers. She giggles, and luckily the waiter arrives to take their orders before she can say anything else.

“God, I haven’t even looked at the menu,” she groans, fumbling with the laminated paper.

“Just drinks for now?” the waiter asks.

“Yeah, I’ll have, uh, an iced tea for now. With raspberry,” she says.

“And you, sir?”

“Just coffee, please,” he says.

The waiter strides away, but Jang-mi is absorbed in the menu now. Mark takes in a long, steadying breath. They’re just here on business — he knows she knows it. Maybe she’s just a flirt and it doesn’t mean anything; he knows _he_ certainly gives off that kind of vibe all too often.

“So,” he says, glancing over the menu even though he’s already decided what he wants. “Did you get a chance to listen to the demos I sent you?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, I did. They were pretty rough but they have a lot of potential, I think. You said your drummer was in a band before?”

“Yeah, but this was years ago, I think when he was in high school. He’s about our age, so more than a couple years.”

“What was his name? John?”

“Jack,” Mark corrects her, and he feels himself start to smile when he says it. “His name’s Jack.”

“And he’s in Ireland?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you guys even meet?” she chuckles, finally looking up from the menu to meet his gaze. “Does he do online videos, too?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he says. “We’re co-workers of a sort. Or colleagues, I guess, would be the better word for it.”

“Well, from what I heard, you guys both know what you’re doing,” she says. “You just have to figure out how to do what you’re doing _together_ , you know? On your own you guys sound good but it’s when you throw the tracks together that stuff starts sounding off.”

“Yeah, we’re still trying to find our sound,” Mark admits. “Well, it’s me, mostly. Jack knows what he’s doing, I think. I’m the one still bumbling around trying to get my shit together, honestly.”

Jang-mi chuckles, but gives him a _look_ as she does — he’s not sure what it means, but it’s definitely a look that means _something_. She leans back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. Her countenance is different somehow.

“Well, let’s talk business,” she says. “What exactly is it that you want to do with this project? Tours, albums?”

“Baby steps!” he laughs incredulously, shaking his head. “No, I… I think I just want to start by releasing a single, _maybe_ an EP but even that’s pushing it. I want to release a single and see how it goes, and then we’ll decide where to go from there.”

“Do you have anyone else involved? Or is it just you and your boy?” she asks with an all-too-knowing grin.

“I — I mean…” Mark stammers, taken aback. He clears his throat. “I, uh, I have the contact information for some producers a guy I know has worked with, but other than that it’s just me and, uh, Jack. For now.”

“But you guys are, like… together, right?” she asks.

Mark gapes at her wordlessly before getting ahold of himself, shaking his head quickly and glancing away, certain his face has turned the grossest shade of red possible.

“No, we — we’re not,” he manages, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“But…?” she prompts, clearly stifling a grin. He shakes his head again, and her grin fades. She lifts her hands in an apologetic gesture, a mess of bangles and leather bracelets slipping down her forearms as she does. “Sorry, I — Shit, did I completely misinterpret this?”

Mark forces himself to meet her gaze, crossing and uncrossing his legs uncomfortably.

“It’s… complicated,” he confesses. “I mean, Jack is — He’s seeing someone right now, and I don’t want to stick my nose into things, you know? It’s already complicated.” _Why am I telling her this?_ he asks himself, but he doesn’t have an answer.

“Okay,” she says, and she leans back in her chair, her hands still level with her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Your business is your business.”

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a long moment, until the waiter arrives with their drinks.

“We’re ready to order,” Mark says quickly as he sets the coffee on the table.

After the waiter is gone again, Mark stirs his coffee pensively, still avoiding Jang-mi’s gaze.

“Well,” Jang-mi starts, her tone less playful, “Um, either way… Either way, I think I want to be involved with your project.”

“Yeah?” Mark says, eyebrows raised. He hadn’t expected a solid answer so soon.

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding. “I get all weird and antsy when I don’t have anything to be working on, and you’re really cool, so I’m sure Jack is cool too, and I think you guys have a lot of promise. I think you could really go places if you put your mind to it, and I want in.” She grins coyly. “And I already have experience with relationship drama in bands, so your _complicated_ -ness doesn’t worry me.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “As long as you don’t try and get with the girlfriend, too. That’s the shit that breaks bands up.”

Mark laughs in spite of himself — he laughs much harder than he’d meant to, so hard that Jang-mi bursts into laughter too.

“God,” he chuckles, one hand gripping his stomach. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. We’re adults, we’ve collaborated before, I think we can, uh, handle ourselves.”

“Good,” she says with a grin. “‘Cause I’m in, if you’ll take me.”

“Honestly, I think you know what you’re doing more than me and Jack combined,” he confesses with a chuckle. “How could I say no?”

“Sounds like it’s a deal, then,” she says with a grin.

The rest of their lunch goes by uneventfully once the food is brought out — mostly they catch up on what the other’s been up to since they’d last been in Ohio together. After an hour, Mark flags down the waiter for the check and excuses himself.

“I’ve still got some videos to edit,” he says with a sigh. “So I’d better go…”

“Well, it was great to see you, and like I said, I’ll send you some tracks soon,” she says as he gets up from the table. The waiter comes by and Mark takes the check before Jang-mi even gets to see it.

“I’ve got it,” he says over her protests. “No, really, it’s fine. It’s a thank-you. I’ve got it.”

“All right,” she concedes, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, let me give you some advice in exchange, then.”

Mark chuckles. “Let’s hear it.”

“You should talk to Jack,” Jang-mi says. “About how you feel. Really. I mean, if it’s already as complicated as you said, how much worse could that make it?”

Mark smiles weakly at her as he pushes his sunglasses over his eyes. “We’ll see,” he sighs. “We’ll see.”

 


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! This next chapter is a long one, with plenty of drama, angst, and feels. Enjoy! :P
> 
> Hopefully this long chapter will make up for the fact that I probably won't be able to update for a week or so, as I'm leaving tomorrow on a trip. I'd hesitate to call it a hiatus, as I've gone more than a week between updates in the past, but it will probably be a little while before a new chapter is up. My apologies!
> 
> And, as always, thanks so much for your comments, feedback, and kudos. I appreciate it all! :)

The next time they Skype, Jack doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before Mark exclaims,

“I found a bassist!”

Jack laughs, Mark’s grinning face beaming at him from the computer screen.

“Yeah?” he chuckles.

“Yeah!” Mark says. “I had a couple people in mind, and I made some calls the other day, I wasn’t expecting a solid answer from anyone yet but yesterday she gave me a solid yes!”

“She?” Jack says, raising a suggestive eyebrow. Mark rolls his eyes.

“She was a friend of my brother’s, actually,” he says. “It’s a long story, but we’re both in LA now and I had kept up with her on Facebook or whatever, so I knew she was in the area, and it turns out the band she was in just broke up recently so she’s been looking for another project to be working on.”

“And she knows it’s all like… over the Internet?” Jack says with a laugh.

“Oh, I forgot that _very_ important detail,” Mark says with an exaggerated groan. “I guess me mentioning you’re out in Ireland wouldn’t have clued her in, either. Shit!” They both start laughing.

“Well, what’s this mystery bassist’s name?”

“Her name’s Jang-mi Song,” Mark says, and chuckles. “Yeah, with a name like that, of course she’d be in music.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Not what I was thinking, but okay.” He types her name into Google. “Does she have her music posted anywhere so I could listen? I found the band’s Wikipedia page, but —“

“I’m surprised you spelled it right on the first try,” the other man teases, and Jack scoffs.

“I think you forget I dated a Korean girl for years,” he retorts. “I even planned to go live in South Korea. I think I can recognize a Korean name when I hear it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mark says faintly, and the two fall silent for an awkward moment. Jack laughs, and Mark gives a nervous laugh in reply.

“Sorry,” Jack says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to be a downer there.”

“No worries,” Mark answers. “Uh, here, let me send you the link to their Bandcamp page…”

Jack clicks on the link Mark sends him and listens to the first song that comes up. It sounds a little grunge-y, not really the sound they’re going for, but then again his drumming background wasn’t an exact match to begin with, either. And this girl has been in a band, so he doesn’t doubt that she can adapt to a different style without much trouble.

He hears Mark start to laugh over the sound of the music in his headphones, and he glances back at Skype with a questioning grin. Mark’s covering his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle his giggles.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “You’re just — you’re cute, bobbing your head along with the music and all.”

Jack immediately feels himself turn bright red — all his weird, crush-y feelings come flooding back as if they were entirely new.

“Don’t be creepy,” he manages to choke out with a strangled laugh, but he rubs his cheeks awkwardly as he says it.

“Sorry, sorry!” Mark exclaims, but he’s laughing all the harder now. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m sorry. You really were cute, though, with how into it you got…”

“I’m just — dedicated to the sound of our band,” Jack protests feebly, but he’s laughing along as he says it and he knows Mark isn’t convinced.

“That’s cute, too,” Mark replies, his voice lower — it rumbles through Jack’s ears and tingles along the back of his neck. “I like how committed you are.”

For a moment Jack struggles to come up with words, his mouth working silently like a fish gasping in the air. Part of him wants to flirt back with Mark, but part of him can’t stop thinking of his conversation with Wiishu, about being with Mark while being with her, and he doesn’t know how he feels so he doesn’t know how he should respond.

“Well — Well, _duh_ ,” he finally says. “If I’m gonna spend so much time on this thing I wanna make sure it’s _good._ ” The words come out harsher and meaner than he intended — he doesn’t sound flirty, just annoyed. Mark blinks at him, his face suddenly going blank, and Jack looks away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Mark starts, all the playfulness gone from his voice. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says quickly, shaking his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound — I’m just — I guess I’ve been stressed out. It’s not you.”

“Well,” Mark says slowly — Jack isn’t sure what the expression on his face means. “We don’t have to talk about this now, if you’d rather wait.”

“No!” Jack protests. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine, really. I’m sorry, Mark, I didn’t mean to snap. I was trying to be funny and it just came out — wrong. It’s my bad.”

“Alright, well, I wanted to, uh, talk about focusing on one song to release now that we for sure have a bassist,” Mark says carefully, as if he’s ready to take the words back at any second. Jack flushes — of course he’d start pushing Mark away, of _course_ he would…

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he replies, forcing his tone to stay even. “Which one were you thinking?”

“Well, first I was thinking _Stay_ , since it’s more solid, I guess,” Mark says, still slowly. “But, then I was thinking, um, _With You_ would be better as a single. It would be more appealing, I think.”

Jack hesitates. It’s a love song that Mark suggested — but of course a love song would sell well, he tells himself, it doesn’t have to mean anything about _them._  

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” he says, trying to sound more upbeat but mostly just sounding louder. “I’m down with it if that’s what you want to do.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Mark agrees. “So let’s just work on that song now and we’ll put the rest on the back burner.”

“Sure. I still have the original drum track for that —“

“Yeah, just clean it up and we’ll talk to Jang-mi about the bass track,” Mark says. “Uh, otherwise, that’s all I really wanted to talk about.”

“Okay,” Jack says, looking away from Mark’s face on the screen. “I’ll send you the new track in a couple days, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Mark says. then Mark clears his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll let you go, then. I’m sure you’re busy, too —“

“Yeah. Okay,” Jack says quickly. “I’ll let you know when I get the chance to send you the new tracks and we’ll talk again then?”

“Great,” Mark says. “Bye, Jack.” Jack starts to reply but Mark ends the call right away.

He leans back in his chair and sighs. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Why can’t you just act like a normal person?” he growls to himself, pressing his hands to his eyes, then running them through his hair. “Freakin’ out over _nothing…_ ”

Jack gets up out of his chair and walks over to his drum set, settling into the seat and pressing down onto the kick pedal with his foot, the bass note resounding through the room, through his chest and up into his jaw.

It had been a tight fit to squeeze the kit into one corner and have his recording setup pushed into the other, but this was the only room to be soundproofed so it couldn’t be helped. He feels a brief twinge of guilt, certain that despite the soundproofing his neighbors (and their baby) would probably still hear him, but he brings the sticks crashing down onto the cymbals and pounds out his frustration onto the drumhead. 

At first he’s just banging out a beat, but after a moment it becomes a sped-up version of the song he’s supposed to be working on, the song Mark wants to release. He mumbles along some of the lyrics he can remember — he’s not much of a singer, but he’s hummed along to Mark’s voice more times than he cares to admit.

“ _My love, I don’t know how to say… The things I’ve had on my mind…_ ”

His cymbal crashes are too loud, and he’s kicking down on the bass drum so hard he’s probably warping the drumhead, but he keeps smashing away even as he hums out the lyrics, creating some weird mash-up of his old band’s angry wall of sound and Mark’s soft voice and sweet lyrics.

“ _And the ocean’s out my window, but all I can see… are your eyes in the sky and in the deep…_ ”

He stops suddenly, his heart pounding as hard in his chest as the bass drum’s lingering vibrations. He’s breathing hard, his eyes wide — his blue eyes, blue as the ocean, blue as the sky —

“No,” he says audibly to himself, shaking his head. “No! No… You’re bein’ silly, you’re trying to see something where there’s nothing… Mark wouldn’t — he wouldn’t —“ _He wouldn’t write a song about me_ , he thinks, unable to speak the thought aloud. He sets down his drumsticks and runs a hand over his face. _He wouldn’t write a song about me and then choose_ that _one to work on, he wouldn’t… Right?_

Jack isn’t sure anymore. He leans back in the seat and looks away from the drums, mouth twisted into an unsettled scowl. He _likes_ Mark well enough, and it’s becoming more and more obvious that Mark feels something for him, that it’s more than just messing around — so what’s stopping them from being together? He doesn’t want to think about it. He watches the stars twinkling outside his window for a long moment, then gets up and leaves the room.

It’s too early for bed, especially considering he usually doesn’t go to sleep until the sun’s coming up, but Jack undresses anyway and lays down on his bed in just his boxers, pulling the blanket up over his waist and propping his laptop on his lap. When he gets online, he checks Skype — Mark’s not logged in, so he reaches for his phone on the bedside table and messages him.

“Sorry again for being a dick,” he types, then hesitates for a long moment, unsure if he should add more — but he sends it as it is. Once it sends, the notification pops up showing that Mark’s read it, but the other man doesn’t respond. The little checkmark twists his gut.

Frustrated, he drops his phone and gets onto Tumblr, answering the first handful of asks he has that he can respond to in a sentence. He hopes his shitty mood doesn’t come through in his words.

After a few minutes, his phone buzzes against his ribs, making him jump. He shifts over and lifts it up — Mark’s responded to him.

“No worries, dude,” the message says. “Sorry you had a rough day.” He sighs — his day hadn’t been any rougher than a regular day, but it made for a good enough excuse — but Mark didn’t deserve excuses, did he?

“No, it was all my bad,” he types. “Shouldn’t have taken it out on you either way.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Mark responds.

“I dunno,” he types, then erases it. “Yeah.” He erases it again. “Can we Skype again? Even just a voice call.” This time he sends it.

It takes a few minutes before Mark replies.

“Okay,” the message finally comes. A moment later, the Skype notification pops up on Jack’s screen, showing that Mark’s online. Jack calls him.

“Hey, Jack,” Mark’s voice comes through his speakers, sounding more tired than he had when they’d Skyped earlier.

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice softer than he’d like. He clears his throat. “Sorry to… to take up more of your time.”

“Don’t say that,” Mark replies. “Don’t even worry about it. I’m here for you.” Jack sighs, leaning his head back on his pillow. He’s Skyping with Mark, in bed, in the dark, in just his underwear — it should be something out of a wet dream, but he feels _awful,_ so awful he can’t even remember what being turned on feels like. They sit in silence for a long moment.  
“Mark,” Jack finally mumbles faintly. “What are we even doing?”

He can practically hear Mark hesitate.

“What do you mean?” the other man asks.

“I mean,” Jack says, sitting up. The laptop slides down his lap. “I mean… What are we? To each other?”

Mark’s silence is longer this time, and finally he says, softly, “You’re my friend, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says. His arms are quivering under the weight of propping himself up. “But is that… Is that all we are?”

He bites his lip as soon as he says it. It can’t be taken back now. He can hear Mark let out a long, measured breath.

“Well,” Mark answers. “I mean… You have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jack breathes. “Yeah, I… I have a girlfriend.”

“And that’s all there is to it,” Mark murmurs.

“Is it?” Jack asks — pleads, almost.

“Jack,” Mark says, the rawness in his voice sending a shiver through Jack’s spine. “I don’t think now is the best time to… to have this conversation.”

He looks away from the screen, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He’s glad he asked for just a voice call — he thinks he might start to cry if he could see Mark, if Mark could see him.

“Then when?” he asks, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t… I don’t know, Jack. But now’s not good. We’re doing all these projects together, and you’re… you’re seeing someone.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Neither of them speak for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“But… But you feel it, right?” he asks desperately. “I’m not crazy, right? You feel it, too?”

“Of course I feel it,” Mark says, almost laughing. “God, the whole Internet knows I do.” But his tone quickly grows somber again, and he sighs. “But that’s… I don’t know, Jack, I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t think this is a conversation I can have right now.”

What can he say to that? Jack lays back down, rubbing his hands over his eyes. His stomach is churning.

“Okay,” he says, and it’s all he can manage. “Okay.”

“Jack,” Mark says, his voice softer. “Jack… You know I care about you a lot. You’re my best friend, and I — I don’t want to mess anything up. For either of us.”

“You mean with my girlfriend.”

“Well… yeah.”

A bark of a laugh escapes Jack’s lips, sounding as bitter as he feels. “Yeah, sure — that’s why you flirt with me all the damn time.”

Mark stammers something unintelligible, then says weakly, “That’s — That’s not fair, Jack.”

Mark’s voice stabs him in the gut — it was a low blow, he knows it.

“God. I’m a fucking idiot,” he mutters. “Of course I’d fucking… I’m sorry, Mark.”

“Jack…” Mark says, but his voice seems far away, further than Jack could ever reach.

“No, forget it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t even have called you,” he interrupts. “I’m… I’m gonna go. I’m gonna try and get some sleep.”

He can hear the uncertainty in Mark’s voice as he replies, “I… Okay.” Mark sighs. “Don’t be sorry, though. I’m… I’m glad you called.”

Jack doesn’t know what to make of that — how could Mark be _glad?_ He, for one, is regretting the entire conversation. What else had he expected?

“Goodnight, Mark,” he says faintly.

“Bye, Jack,” Mark replies, and Jack shuts his laptop. He lays in the dark for a long moment, then with a heavy sigh he leans over and sets the laptop on the ground and his phone on the bedside table, then rolls onto his other side. 

Shame burns across his face like a slap — he’s sure that whatever respect Mark had for him before is gone now. As much as he’d wanted to have a serious conversation, it had only played out as him trying to get with Mark, all while they’d both known he had a girlfriend — and throwing it back in his face when Mark hadn’t played along. He’s fucked everything up for good this time.

He curls into himself under his blanket, clutching a pillow to his chest as he chokes back the sob burning in his throat.

* * *

When the Skype call ends, Mark spends a long moment staring at the computer screen, feeling somehow both exhausted and painfully anxious all at once.

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath, then gets up, throwing his chair back. “Fuck. _Fuck!”_ He slams his hands down on the desk, anger coiling tight in the pit of his stomach.

How had he fucked it up this badly? He’d been pining after Jack for so damn long, and as soon as Jack wants to talk about it, about _them…_ Of course he’d make a complete ass of himself. He’d never thought they’d really have that conversation — why the hell had he pushed Jack away? Why had he insisted that their _friendship_ couldn’t be touched? Why had he danced around the point Jack was trying to make?

He’s been telling himself it’s because he knows Jack is dating someone, because he knows Jack loves his girlfriend — but he knows it’s not entirely true. Part of him balks at the idea of fucking up someone else’s relationship, but the rest of him wants Jack so bad that he knows he’d say yes to anything Jack asked of him, girlfriend or no — he’d feel like shit afterward, but he’d say yes all the same.

So why, why the _hell_ did he push the other man away? Jack had asked if he’d _felt it, too —_ he’d all but admitted he felt for Mark what Mark felt for Jack. It had been the chance he’d been waiting for and he’d fucked it all up.

It couldn’t be too late. He couldn’t let it be too late, he _needs_ to fix this somehow — he scrambles for his phone on the desk.

He calls Jack’s phone, despite the time difference, despite the fees of an international call; none of it matters, not compared to how much he needs to fix what he’s fucked up. Every introverted, conflict-avoiding instinct in his body is screaming at him to hang up before it’s too late, but he grits his teeth and listens to the phone ring once, twice, five times, until —

“ _Hey, this is Jack. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back! Thanks!_ ”

“Dammit,” he hisses, the tension draining from his shoulders all at once. It’s his last chance to hang up, to pretend he hasn’t messed up everything, to ignore the problem until it goes away, to ignore Jack until he walks away.

The phone beeps.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, his voice quivering. “It’s Mark. Uh…” He sighs, running his free hand through his hair. “I know you didn’t want to talk anymore and I know you’re in bed now, but… I just wanted to tell you that… I don’t know, I just want you to know that I really do care about you a lot, and… And I didn’t mean to brush you off or ignore what you wanted to talk about tonight. And I’m not mad about what you said. I deserved that. It’s just…” He hesitates, unable to find the words.

“It’s just, I don’t think I can talk about… _us_ right now,” he finally manages. “But not forever. I promise. It’s something we should… something we _need_ to talk about, I know, and we will. I guess I kind of freaked out earlier. I’m sorry. It’s not because of you or anything you did, I just… I’m just worried I’m going to mess everything up, the band, our Youtube stuff… Our friendship. I don’t want to mess it up. But I know that… The more I avoid it the worse it’ll become. So I promise that we _will_ have the conversation you wanted to have. I promise I’ll come to you when I’m ready. So let’s just… Let’s just focus on putting out this one song for now and then we’ll go from there.”

He sighs, realizing he’s been pacing around the room, and he forces himself to sit back down.

“I’m sorry if I made things worse for you today,” he says slowly. “I… I understand if you’re mad at me. I’d be mad at me too.” He chuckles weakly. “Anyway, uh, this message is getting pretty long, so, uh… I’ll talk to you later, Jack. Bye.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call, then lets his hand fall weakly into his lap.

Feeling sick, he stares at the blank screen of his phone for a long time, until he convinces himself he’s not going to throw up. He’s sure he did the right thing, but anxiety is still clawing a hole in his belly. He puts the phone down on his desk and gets up, walking to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When Mark comes back to his desk, the screen of his phone is full of text notifications from Jack. His heart jumps back up into his throat as he sits back down to read them.

“I can’t sleep. I got your voicemail.”

“I’m sorry too. I kind of freaked out too. I’m not mad at you either though.”

“I don’t really know what to say. I guess mostly I’m sorry for pressing the issue, and I hope you don’t think less of me for wanting to talk about it even though I have a gf.”

“Stuff is just complicated right now I guess. But I’ll drop it if you don’t want to talk yet. When you’re ready I’ll be here. Promise.”

Mark leans back in his chair with a slow sigh. What were they even doing? Of course they’d fuck up trying to have a conversation about their feelings for each other when they couldn’t even manage the use the word _feelings._

“Thanks for understanding,” he types back, but he struggles to find any other words. “I don’t think any less of you. Hell I’m glad you want to talk about it, really. I’m sorry I couldn’t.” He hesitates again for a long moment after sending it, then concludes weakly, “Sleep well.”

“Thanks,” is all Jack replies, then, “Goodnight.”

Mark puts the phone back on his desk and stares blankly at his computer. He has editing he has to get done, but he can’t get the conversation out of his head. He’s not sure if he’s salvaged their relationship, despite his efforts.

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He walks, zombie-like, to the kitchen, and pours himself a generous shot of Fireball.


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm back! :) My apologies for the delay.
> 
> This chapter was ready to go a few days ago, but with all the news regarding Cyndago and Daniel Kyre happening at the same time it felt inappropriate and even disrespectful to post a new chapter at the time, so I decided to wait. While I've only seen Cyndago's work in relation to Mark, a tragedy like this affects the lives of friends and family forever, and my heart hurts for Mark and for everyone affected, and especially for Daniel who must have suffered so much in silence. I hope everyone affected by this can find some comfort in knowing his suffering is over and he is at peace now.
> 
> In light of this I just want to put it out there that if you are ever in need of someone to talk to or just to listen to you, about this or anything at all, ever, I will never turn anyone away and I will always be there to help in any way I can. If you ever feel the need to, you are welcome to message me here or on my Tumblr. No one should ever have to suffer alone. We are part of a community and that means supporting each other and lifting each other up when we're down. Please don't ever hesitate to reach out, to me or to a friend or loved one. You are not alone.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.

Jack wakes up early, feeling groggy and unrested. He’d barely slept since Mark had sent him the voicemail, his body wide awake despite his mental exhaustion. He gets up with the sun - the time he's usually just going to bed - and, after pulling on his softest sweater, makes himself a cup of tea, unable to stomach the thought of food. 

He knows he should talk to Wiishu, but part of him wants to hold the memory of last night to his chest like a secret, so no one will know or remember except him - and Mark. He wants to hold their conversation in his head until he memorizes it, until he can understand what any of it meant.  

Mark had all but confessed to him; saying he wasn't ready to talk about it yet still meant there was something to talk about, right? He’d all but confessed, but Jack had only been a raging asshole.

He drinks his tea slowly while standing in front of his balcony, peering out at the morning below. The world is going on as usual, cars moving steadily down the main road in the early morning light. He sighs and turns away.

After forcing down some toast with jam, he makes his way to the recording room and gets to work on finishing last night’s editing that he had abandoned. The routine of it is soothing. By the time he finishes the second video, he’s in a decent enough mood that he thinks he can tackle recording, but then Wiishu texts him.

“Good morning!” the message reads, and his heart falls despite himself.

“Morning,” he types back, then adds, “Had a rough night. Can we talk? Skype?”

He sends it, then sets the phone down on his desk and leans back in his chair with a groan.Much as he’d rather not talk about anything, the longer he puts it off the worse the conversation will be.

She doesn’t text him back, but the Skype ringtone startles him out of his thoughts moments later. He answers the call and smiles weakly as she appears on the screen.

“What’s up?” she asks, grinning. “It had better be good. I haven’t even had a chance to do my hair or makeup or anything.”

“Sorry,” he says, glancing away. “I just, uh… Well, Mark and I talked last night, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Yeah? What did you talk about?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair. He sighs, long and slow.

“Well,” he starts, then hesitates. “Well… We talked about us, kind of. It was… weird. I was kind of an asshole, I think.”

She frowns at the screen, giving him a closer look. “Go on,” she prompts him.

“I don’t know what happened,” he groans. “We were just talking about stuff with the band, and then I got all irritated when he was joking around and… Well, we stopped talking, but then we Skyped later, and…” He looks away. “I asked him what’s going on between us, and he… Well, he said he wasn’t ready to talk about it. He said he didn’t want to mess anything up, between me and you.”

He doesn’t know what else to say after that. She watches him for a long moment, then asks softly, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. He feels himself start to blush. “I don’t know. I really made an ass out of myself. I made kind of a mean comment and he said he wasn’t mad, but… You know. He left me a voicemail afterward. He said he couldn’t talk about… _us_ right now, but we will, probably after we release this single we’re working on. I don’t know, everything is so — so complicated and weird right now.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Wiishu asks, and Jack almost laughs.

“No,” he says quickly, then pauses. “Well… Maybe. Not anytime soon.”

“Jack,” she says slowly. “I’m sure Mark isn’t mad at you like you think. I think it just sounds like you guys had an emotional conversation and didn’t know how to handle it.”

Jack does laugh this time. “That’s an understatement. God, we were just — trying to talk about it and avoid it at the same time. Of course we’d both get upset.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sounds like I’m gonna have to have a talk with the both of you.”

He smiles weakly at her. “Yeah, I think so too.” She grins back.

“So what will you talk about after you’ve put out your song?” she asks slyly.

“Oh, don’t ask me that,” he says, looking away.

“No! You have to be sure of yourself this time!” she exclaims, balling her hands into fists and punching toward the screen. He laughs.

“We’ll figure out what the hell is going on between us,” he says. She nods in approval. “I love you, you know that? I feel a lot better now.”

“Aw, babe,” she grins. “You’re sweet. I love you too.”

“I guess I’ll let you go,” Jack says. “To do your hair and makeup or whatever.”

She laughs, giving her hair an exaggerated flip. “That would be nice.”

“Thanks for calling me,” he says, feeling suddenly shy. “I really do appreciate it. You make me feel better about all this.”

Her smile on the screen is the brightest, the sweetest he’s ever seen. “It’s the least I can do,” she says. “Jack, I would bring you the moon if I could. You deserve it all.”

He feels himself start to blush from his cheeks to his ears. “I don’t know about _that_ ,” he mumbles faintly in protest, but it’s all he can think of to say. Her grin on the screen doesn’t waver.

“Go on, get to work,” she chides. “I’ll talk to you later.”

* * *

Mark spends the next day holed up in his recording space, filming and editing for hours. He’s not sure what time it is when Danny waves at him through the window, then comes through the door. Mark lowers his headphones.

“Hey,” Danny says, holding out a bag of food. “We made a Subway run for dinner and I figured you’d want something.”

“Dinner?” Mark asks, frowning. “What time is it?”

“About five,” Danny chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve been here all day, dude.”

Mark’s stomach starts growling, and he takes the bag gratefully. “Shit. The time just got away from me.”

“Are you alright, man?” Danny asks, and his tone is less joking this time. “You’re usually done by now if you’re even still here. What’s up?”

“Just trying to get work done today,” Mark mumbles, pulling a bag of chips and a wrapped-up sandwich out of the bag. Danny raises an eyebrow at him, unconvinced. He sighs, but starts eating the chips instead of saying anything.

“Alright, well,” Danny finally replies, reaching over to pat Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t burn yourself out, man. Take a break. Go home!”

“I will,” Mark says through a mouthful of chips, and Danny chuckles.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he says, sauntering out of the room.

Mark finishes the bag of chips, then, wiping his hands on his pants, reaches back toward the computer — but then he hesitates. Maybe Danny’s right. He should go home.

He gets up out of his chair, packing up his things, then grudgingly checks his phone for the first time since he’d sat down to record this morning. At first all he sees are Twitter notifications, but as he scrolls down he sees a text from Jack, sent a few hours ago.

“Hope you had a good morning,” is all the message says, short enough that he can read it all just in the notification. Mark sighs, then shoves the phone into his bag along with the rest of his stuff. He scarfs down the sandwich as he walks out to his car.

He’d been listening to some emo band he’d been meaning to check out while on his way to the recording space, and it resumes playing as he turns on his car and gets going. The singer’s whine of a voice and the plaintive lyrics do as little to improve his mood as it had this morning, but part of it is somehow comforting so he doesn’t change the music.

As he drives all he can think of is how to respond to Jack’s text. Usually he’s good about responding to texts quickly, even when he’s working — his silence so far has already communicated his shitty mood to Jack, he’s sure. Of course, he’s certain Jack’s in a shitty mood, too — he doesn’t need a short, curt text message to tell him that.

By the time he gets back to his apartment, he knows that they should talk even though he’s still unsure of what to say to the other man. He settles onto his sofa with a drink and his laptop, then texts Jack back.

“My day was alright, sorry for not responding earlier,” he types back. “Can we Skype?” He hesitates and starts to type out “I missed you”, but deletes it and writes, “I’ve been thinking of you all day.” He’s not sure if it sounds any less pathetic, but he sends it anyway.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to respond.

“No worries, dude,” the text says, then another one quickly follows. “Yeah, I’m online now.”

Mark calls him as soon as he logs into Skype, peering at himself in the webcam and messing with his hair. He _looks_ sick and tired — no wonder Danny had noticed right away. After a moment, Jack’s face appears on the screen, and Mark smiles hesitantly at him. The other man smiles back slowly.

“Hey, Mark,” he says, looking away from the screen.

“Hey,” Mark replies, clearing his throat. “Um, thanks for Skyping with me.”

“Of course, man,” Jack murmurs, still not meeting the other man’s gaze. “Any time.”

“I wanted to, uh…” Mark starts, then stops. “I, uh, just wanted to say that…” He trails off, still unsure.

His heart is pounding but he still can’t find the words. They sit in an uncomfortable silence for what feels like an hour, then Mark clears his throat and forces himself to say the first thing he can manage.

“So, uh, I’ve been listening to this new band,” he stammers. “It’s this kind of… new-wave emo revival band, you wouldn’t believe the weird shit they do with the synth.” He pauses, then starts laughing. He sounds stupid, so fucking _stupid —_ he can’t hold a conversation to save his damn life.

But then Jack starts laughing, too — not a mean laugh, but a real laugh, and when he looks at the other man he’s grinning widely.

“I’m glad you’ve been doing your homework,” Jack laughs, and Mark nods helplessly.

“I have,” he says. “There’s these — these bands that are reviving emo as a genre but it sounds completely different from, like, the emo bands that were big when we were in high school or whatever, and they all have, like, these crazy, super long names. It’s really — it’s really — weird, and, uh, interesting.”

They’re both laughing and Mark can’t get over how ridiculous this all is, that less than twenty-four hours ago he’d been so upset and worried that everything was ruined and yet they had slipped back into their old familiar interactions as if it had never been interrupted.

“I’m sorry. Oh, man. God,” he wheezes out between laughs. “God, Jack, I — I really missed you today.”

Jack quiets at that, but he’s still smiling when Mark glances back at the screen.

“You’re sweet,” the other man replies, his blue eyes gleaming visibly even through the distance between them. “I was… Thinking about you a lot today, too.”

“I love this, you know?” Mark says, gesturing between them. “I want us to always be like this.” Their eyes meet on the screen, and they both smile, wide and sappy, and Mark holds his breath as if it could make the moment last forever.

“Well, maybe not _exactly_ like this,” Jack finally says, his grin turning sly. “I think it would be better if you were actually here with me and not just a face on a screen.”

“True,” Mark concedes. He looks away, his face feeling hot. “But, I mean… This is still pretty cool.”

“It’s okay, I guess,” Jack shrugs, but his still-wide grin gives him away.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mark replies, rolling his eyes.

“Well, tell me more about these weird emo bands you’re listening to,” Jack teases. “Did you already go through your emo phase, or should I be concerned?”

“Actually,” Mark says, remembering. “I wanted to schedule a time when we can all Skype, you and me and Jang-mi, so we can all listen to the demo and maybe even do a sort of practice kind of thing together, too.”

“God, you’re an absolute workaholic,” Jack sighs. “Alright, tell me when and I’ll make it work.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mark says with a nod. “Probably sometime next week.”

“Do we even have a band name yet? How can we release a single without a band name?”

“We’ll talk about that, too.”

“I haven’t even met this girl yet and I’m supposed to be in a band with her?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll introduce you, _then_ we’ll talk about the band name, _then_ we’ll practice.”

“That sounds more like a plan,” Jack chuckles, and Mark scoffs.

“As if I haven’t had a plan this whole time,” he retorts.

“I’m not sure I believe you have,” the other man counters, and they’re both giggling like children.

Then Jack yawns, and stretches, exposing a tiny sliver of his belly on Mark’s screen.

“Shit, it’s late, isn’t it?” Mark says, suddenly remembering the time difference.

“Not that late, not for me, at least,” Jack replies. “But I, uh, didn’t sleep well last night and I got up really early. So I’m sure my sleep schedule is all kinds of fucked up now."

“Sorry,” Mark says sheepishly. “I forget how big the time difference is sometimes.”

“Aw, seven hours hasn’t stopped us before,” Jack teases, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I think I will turn in soon, though.”

“I’ll let you go then,” Mark says.

“You don’t have to. I’d rather keep working, really.”

“Who’s the workaholic now?”

“Takes one to know one,” Jack says, nodding wisely.

“That’s true,” Mark admits with a sigh. “I’m sorry if I’m putting too much on your plate, really.”

“Oh, please,” Jack scoffs. “It’s fine. I’m useless when I’m not busy.”

“You should really get some sleep,” Mark chides. “You’ll be useless if you can’t stay awake during the day, too.”

“Alright, _Mom_ ,” Jack sighs, then laughs. “Momiplier.”

“Jesus,” Mark says, then bursts into a laugh. “Momiplier. God. Don’t let the Internet get ahold of that one.”

“Well, goodnight, _Momiplier_ ,” Jack says through his giggles.

“Goodnight, JackSepticSon,” Mark replies, and they both start laughing again.

“I really am gonna go, though,” Jack says, once they’ve both gotten ahold of themselves. Mark smiles at him and leans in close to his microphone.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, letting his voice lower and rumble through his throat. His grin widens as Jack visibly squirms, his face reddening.

“I hate when you do that,” Jack protests, rubbing his stubbled cheeks with both hands.

“No. You _love_ it,” Mark replies. Jack rolls his eyes, then leans in close to the screen.

“I bet _you_ love it when I do _this_ ,” he says, his voice low and raw and sending shivers through Mark’s whole body.

“Shit,” he breathes, then grins. “I know you’re serious when you bust out the sexy voice. Do that more often.”

“God, you’re shameless,” Jack laughs, leaning back from the microphone. Mark shrugs, unable to deny it.

“Well, goodnight,” he chuckles.

“As if I can sleep _now_ ,” Jack says.

“I could sing you to sleep,” Mark offers, laughing. Jack hesitates, his expression intrigued. Mark hums softly, and Jack chuckles.

“Maybe someday,” he says. “Actually, I can’t really sleep unless it’s, like, totally silent, so not anytime soon.”

“Damn,” Mark sighs, still grinning at the other man. “Oh well. Worth a shot.” Jack rolls his eyes. “Well, I’ll let you know about the band stuff when I work out when will be best.”

“Sounds good.”

“Sleep well,” he says, softly, just to see Jack’s expression change. “Goodnight for real this time.”

“Goodnight, Mark,” Jack replies, a defeated grin spreading across his face. “Call me again tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mark says, smiling back. “Yeah, I will.”

 


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Thanks so much for your kind comments and feedback on the last chapter. This chapter's nice and long, to make up for my erratic posting schedule lately, haha.
> 
> I'm going to go ahead and bump the rating up to M this chapter as there's a little bit of smut ;) Nothing too hot or heavy, but maybe a hint of things to come? We'll see!
> 
> And, as always, your comments and kudos are so appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!

The next time they Skype, there are three of them. When Jang-mi's face appears on the screen next to Jack's, Mark stifles a laugh at the other man's careful smile, the way his expression changes so quickly when the call ceases to be just the two of them. 

"Jack," he says, gesturing to the faces on the screen even though he's sure it makes him look silly. "This is Jang-mi. Jang-mi, this is Jack." 

“Hi, Jack," she says with a grin, waving. Mark can see Jack looking her over, his gaze lingering on the dark blue streak in her hair and her stretched earlobes.  

“Hi, Jang-mi,” he replies, his smile open, his blue eyes sparkling. "It's nice to finally, uh, meet you." 

"You too," she says. "Although with how much Mark talks about you, I feel like we've already met." 

Jack starts laughing at that, and Mark joins in with an embarrassed chuckle. 

"He told me you were in a hardcore band a couple years ago," she continues.  

"More than a couple years ago now," Jack replies with a groan. "But basically, yeah." 

"I don't know if Mark talks about me as much as he talks about you," she chuckles. "But up until a few weeks ago I was in a punk band, so I think we'll get along just fine." 

"I think so, too," Jack laughs.  

"Alright, now we've all met, which means we're officially a band now. That's how it works, right?" Mark says.  

"Oh, definitely. That's all it takes," Jang-mi agrees with a laugh,  tossing her hair to one side so it all drapes over one shoulder.  

"I keep telling Mark we need to have a band name, even just a placeholder," Jack complains. "So now if we're officially a band, no more excuses!" 

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk about," Mark says. He hesitates, then continues, "I was wondering how you guys would feel about not really having a band name, but just putting music out under my name." 

For a moment they're both silent, and Mark's heart plummets to the bottom of his gut — of course it was a bad idea, as if people don't think his ego is inflated enough already —  

"Like Markiplier? Or your _name_ name?" Jack asks finally.  

"No, no," Mark stammers. "Well, I was thinking of using the name Mark Edward, it flows a bit better than if I used my last name, I think. I — I mean..." 

"I like it," Jang-mi says decisively, interrupting him. "Mark Edward. It sounds sophisticated. And if we're going for that singer-songwriter style, then using just your name is probably for the best." 

"Yeah," Jack agrees. "And plus, if you just use your name, you can keep a music career going even if we don't stick around." 

"Planning on leaving the band so soon?" Jang-mi says with a snicker.  

"No!" Jack protests, laughing. "But, y’know, I'm sure Mark will realize pretty soon he wants a drummer with more talent than a guy who was in a band in high school and nothing else." 

"Aw, he's just as humble as you said, Mark," Jang-mi giggles.  

"Jesus," Jack groans. "I don't want to know what he's said about me, but it's probably all lies and exaggeration." 

Mark, unable to stay silent any longer, bursts into a delighted laugh. He had hoped they'd get along, but they're already bantering and joking and becoming friends, more than he had let himself hope for.  

"Oh, I did _good_ ," he chuckles with a self-satisfied sigh, and they both scoff at him, laughing.  

"Just like Mark to take all the credit," Jack teases.  

"Typical lead singer," Jang-mi says with an exaggerated sigh.  

"Mark Edward it is, then," he barrels on, grinning at both of them cheekily. "If you don't like it, speak now or forever hold your peace." 

"No protests from me," Jang-mi says.  

"Ooh, Mark _Edward_ ," Jack says in an exaggerated whimper. "Sing me more of those love songs, baby." 

Jang-mi bursts into hysterics at that, giving Mark the opportunity to hide his blushing face in his hands. He deserves that, he guesses, considering how much he teases Jack.  

"Oh my god," Jang-mi chokes out between laughs. "We can't use any other name now. It's done." 

"Great," Mark groans, but they're both laughing and it makes him laugh, too.  

* * *

 The next weeks are a blur of work and sleep and not much else for Jack. He starts actually getting up before noon, drumming and recording during the day, then filming and editing videos for his channel into the evening — so it’s mostly work, and not a lot of sleep. One night, one of his brothers invites him out for drinks for the first time in months, but he has to turn him down. 

“Are you sure you aren’t trying to do too much at once?” Wiishu asks him, when he’s half-asleep during the Skype call he managed to make time for.

“It’s just because Mark really wants to put out this song soon, you know?” he replies. “It’ll only be really busy like this for a few weeks. I’m okay, really. Just tired. You know I like being busy.”

“I know, but it’s not worth your health,” she tells him, her expression unconvinced.

“I’m alright. I know my limits,” he assures her. “It’ll just be like this a little longer.”

A few days later his father calls, wanting to get his thoughts on a family vacation he’s thinking of putting together for next summer. But the conversation doesn’t last long — Jack can hardly think beyond his workload for the next week, much less the next year. He tells his father he just needs to know well enough in advance, that it doesn’t matter to him where they go, then gets back to work. He makes a note to call again about it when everything has calmed down, and hopes the note won’t get lost in the mess of his work desk.

Every morning he wakes up to a new track to listen to, to messages from Mark and Jang-mi about what they did differently this time and what they think of his work and their thoughts on the most recent track — until, finally, one morning the audio file is accompanied by a single message from Mark: “I think this is the one!”

Jack listens to it, then gives it a second listen, and then a third — he thinks it’s the one, too. Everything is meshed well together, the editing is tight, the sound is clean.

“I think so too,” he messages back (knowing, of course, they won’t see it for hours yet), then leans back in his chair, savoring what’s gearing up to be his first relaxed day in weeks.

He makes himself a big, leisurely breakfast; then he spends an hour playing games for fun, the first time he’s played anything without the camera on in longer than he cares to think of. It feels like a vacation in itself.

Then he gets a text from Mark. He frowns when he sees it — he thinks it’s around six in the morning in California, which is early even for Mark.

“Im glad you like the track!” it reads. “Once Jang-mi gives the thumbs up we’ll start talking about when to release it. Would u feel comfortable talking about it on ur channel?”

“Why are you up so early??” is all he types back, chuckling to himself as he does so.

“Too excited to sleep,” the response comes quickly. “You of all people should know sleep is a big ol waste of time!!”

“True,” he types back. “I could promo it on my channel if u want me to.”

Mark doesn’t reply right away, so he gets up to stretch and fix himself a cup of tea. When he’s in the kitchen, Mark texts him again: “Group Skype with Jang-mi later today, 7pm your time work?”

“Sure thing,” he replies. With a sigh, he takes his tea into his recording room, deciding to get some work done for his channel before the call.

Being able to take his time and not rush through a recording makes for a much more pleasant experience, and, when he starts editing, a much more enjoyable video than the ones he’d been putting out, he admits to himself. Maybe he _had_ brought a bit too much onto his plate.

He turns the camera back on, peering at himself on the screen and fixing his hair before high-fiving toward the camera.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya, laddies, my name is Jacksepticeye and today I wanted to have a little heart-to-heart,” he says, the words coming like second nature, without thought. “I’m sure some of you noticed that my videos lately have been a little lacking. I know some people have commented about it, though most of ya are too nice to say anything.” He grins sheepishly at the camera. “I know, though. I realized a lot of the recent videos have been really rushed and just not as good or enjoyable as I try to make sure all videos are. I’ve been really busy lately, more busy than I usually am, and I’ve realized that I’ve let the video quality suffer because of it. And I’m sorry about that. You guys don’t deserve that, no matter what other projects I have going on.”

He runs a hand through his hair, then smiles. “But! The project I’ve been working on has been a sort of unofficial secret, but I’ll be able to tell you guys about it soon, really soon. As in, in the next couple of days soon, I think. So get excited about that! It’ll be awesome! And hopefully you guys will understand why it took up so much of my time and you’ll forgive me for letting the channel go to the back burner for the past few weeks, so to speak. I’m not sure how much I should say now, but I’ll just say that it’s a different sort of collaboration with, uh, someone I think you guys really like seeing me collab with.” He winks at the camera cheekily, knowing that half the Internet will probably be able to correctly guess who by now.

“Anyways, I just wanted to tell you all what’s been going on. It’s no excuse, but that’s what’s been happening. I think things are going to start calming down for now, so videos should be back to the usual quality starting tomorrow. I promise.”

He leans back in his chair, ending the vlog with a few more words and his outro. He edits it down and starts exporting it within an hour - vlogs are by far the easiest to edit and put up. When he checks his phone again, Mark’s sent him more texts: “Let’s promo the shit out of it! We should do a video together!” and “Meeting Jang-mi for lunch and wishing you could come too.”

He chuckles, and texts back, “Send me some food! Almost as good.”

Mark doesn’t reply right away, and he still has some time before their Skype call, so he settles back into the game he’d been playing, glad to finally have some time to waste.

* * *

 He wakes with Jack underneath him, flushed and panting. He hesitates, glancing around the room - his room, in his apartment, in Los Angeles. 

"What's going on?" he breathes, looking back to the other man. "Jack, what — ?” 

"Mark," he interrupts, his voice a needy moan. Immediately Mark stops thinking of anything but the man beneath him, his bright blue eyes clouded by his pupils blown wide with arousal.  "Mark, please..." 

"I've got you," he replies, his lips grazing the skin of Jack’s neck. "I'm here, I've got you..." 

His hands are on Jack’s hips, pushing up his shirt, fingers trailing from his nipples down to the hair that dusts his abs. The younger man’s body is lithe and supple against his own, and the noises he makes in response to Mark’s touch are filthy and addictive.  

And then they're together, Jack crying out with every thrust of Mark’s hips, and all he can think of is that he wants to hear Jack make those noises forever, that all he's ever wanted was to be inside him and never leave. Jack’s hands are in his hair and their eyes are locked and Jack whimpers out his name, again and again, and — 

And then something starts vibrating against his belly and he jerks awake, the phone falling off his stomach and onto the floor. He sits up quickly, breathing hard.  

_A dream_ , he thinks, _just a dream._ He places a hand over his pounding heart and takes in a long, slow, steadying breath.

His phone is still ringing on the floor; he picks it up and, seeing the time, swears before answering.

“Hey, Jang-mi,” he says as he gingerly stands up from where he’d been laying on the couch.

“Hey, I’ve been calling you! I’m here,” she says. Mark groans — how long had he been sleeping?

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep on accident,” he says apologetically. “I just woke up. I’m going to go, um, change really quick, and then I’ll let you up. Sorry!”

“Jack’s gonna be mad if we’re late for our Skype call,” she chides him. The mention of Jack sets his heart pounding again. He rubs his reddening face, embarrassed — he hasn’t had a wet dream in years, probably since high school, and how the hell is he going to be able to look Jack in the eye during their Skype call when he’d just been dreaming of fucking him?

“I know, I’m really sorry,” he sighs. “I’ll be down in just a minute, I swear.”

“Alright, but I’m a pretty girl all alone in LA, so don’t be too long,” Jang-mi replies.

“I won’t, promise. See you in a minute,” he says, then hangs up, throwing the phone back to the couch.

He changes clothes quickly and splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom.

“Get ahold of yourself,” he growls at his reflection as he leans over the sink. “You’re a grown ass man, not some horny twelve year old.” He scrubs his face dry, then leaves his apartment.

When he gets to the lowest floor of the building, he opens the door to find Jang-mi sitting on the bottom step, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. She turns to look at him, then grins, standing up.

“Took you long enough, sleepy head,” she says. Mark lifts his hands apologetically after closing the door behind them.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says. “I got up early this morning, and then I was sitting on the couch working on my laptop, I swear I don’t even remember falling asleep.” She chuckles and pats his arm as he leads her to the elevator.

“Been working _too_ hard, sounds like,” she says, and he can’t deny it.

As soon as they walk in the door, Mark opens his laptop back up to log into Skype; it’s past time for the call. Jack is already online, so he calls the other man as he sets the laptop on the kitchen table.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says to Jang-mi as the Skype ringtone plays. “Want anything to drink? I’ve got soda and, uh, cranberry juice, I think? And orange juice, too…”

“Just water would be great,” she chuckles, and he gets her a glass. “Hi Jack!” she says, looking at the screen, and Mark feels his heart leap up into his throat.

“Oh, uh, hey, Jang-mi,” Jack’s voice comes from the table. “Are you — are you at Mark’s apartment?”

“Yeah, we’re getting lunch later, so we just decided to meet here for the call,” she says. “Mark’s on the other side of the table, getting me a drink like a gentleman.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Mark calls from the fridge. “I, uh, I overslept.”

“Oh, is _that_ why you didn’t text me back?” Jack teases.

“Yeah, probably,” he admits with a chuckle. He sets Jang-mi’s glass in front of her, then waves at the screen, forcing himself to act normally. Jack smiles and waves back, but there’s something off about his expression that Mark can’t place. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Jack agrees with a chuckle. Mark sits in the chair next to Jang-mi — Jack’s gaze lingers on the space between their shoulders.

“Well, let’s talk,” Mark says, clearing his throat. “So I think we have a track now that’s good enough to release.”

“Right,” Jack agrees.

“I think so, too,” Jang-mi says. “It’s the best it’s gonna get without, like, a professional producer working on it or something.”

“So… When do we want to put it out?” Mark asks. “I mean, we should promo it on our channels a bit, just to make sure it doesn’t flop, but with the holidays coming up, I don’t want to wait too long, either.” He meets Jack’s eyes when he says it, and they both look away quickly.

“A week? Two?” Jang-mi suggests, and Jack nods.

“I think a week sounds good,” he says. “It gives us time to build up some hype but it’s not a long wait, so people won’t lose interest.”

“Do you have, like, album art or something? Will you need to take photos for that?” Jang-mi asks, looking to Mark. He shakes his head with a faint scoff.

“Honestly, I’ve got more pictures of me on my computer than I’d like to admit,” he says. “I’m sure I can find a picture that’ll work, and I can do all the editing.” She laughs.

“Too many selfies, huh?” she teases, and he chuckles, shrugging.

“So, a week?” Jack says.

“Next Friday,” Jang-mi says. “That’s always the best day to release new music. I mean, it’s not an album, but that’s when people are used to new music coming out.”

“Isn’t it Tuesday that new music comes out?” Mark asks.

“What? No, that’s Monday,” Jack interrupts.

“No, no, they changed it this year,” Jang-mi insists with a wave of her hand. “They changed it to Friday, ‘cause worldwide digital releases make people less likely to pirate stuff when they’re released on different days in different countries, all that stuff, yadda yadda. I’m telling you, Friday is music day.” Mark raises a skeptical eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes. “Look it up if you don’t believe me!”

“She’s right,” Jack laughs. “I just looked it up. It just happened in July. Yeah, Friday’s the day.”

“Okay, okay. Friday, then,” Mark relents with a sigh.

“Do you know how to put a song up on iTunes and stuff?” Jang-mi asks, poking Mark’s arm. He grimaces.

“Can’t say I do,” he admits.

“That’s alright. I can do it,” Jang-mi says. “Just send me the album art whenever you finish it and I can take care of it.”

“Sounds good,” Mark agrees, then he laughs, shaking his head. “God, this is really happening. It’s _real_.”

“Getting cold feet?” Jack teases.

“No, I’m excited!” Mark replies, grinning widely. “It’s just, y’know — it all started with just a stupid text I sent you, and now we’re actually gonna release a song.”

“Moral of the story is, start ignoring all your drunk texts,” Jack says, and they all laugh.

They chat for a little longer, then Jang-mi stands up. “I gotta use the bathroom.”

“It’s that door there, down the hall,” Mark says, pointing.

When she’s gone and they’re alone, Mark and Jack look at each other in silence, then Jack clears his throat.

“So,” he says. “So… Friday, then?”

“Friday,” Mark agrees, his heart starting to pound.

“And we’ll talk then?” Jack asks. His voice is low, intimate. “Friday night?”

Mark looks away, feeling his face start to burn. He can’t keep running away. He looks back at Jack, whose eyes are bright and earnest and piercing, even through the computer screen.

“Yeah,” Mark says, and he doesn’t look away. “Yeah. We’ll talk about it on Friday.”


	11. eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! I'm so sorry for the long break between chapters! October has been a bit of a busy month for me as my partner and I had our anniversary, plus we are starting the process of moving, AND we got a PS3 so most of my free time has been spent playing Skyrim and Borderlands 2, to be completely honest, haha. My apologies!!
> 
> But, I also had a hard time with this chapter, which is another reason why it took so long. This chapter is not especially long, but writing out an emotional situation without sounding silly while still staying true to characterization but also making sure the characters act and sound like real people... well, it's a balancing act that I didn't want to rush. I'm still not completely satisfied with how this chapter turned out, but after going back to it so many times I reached the point where I just needed to be able to move on with the plot. If I waited to post this chapter until I was 100% satisfied with it then it would probably never get posted, to be honest. So, please forgive my long absence and some of the shakiness of this chapter; the next one will be a bit more solid, and hopefully be here sooner, haha. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking around and reading! Your continued support, comments, and kudos are, as always, much appreciated!

On Friday, Mark wakes up early and anxious. The song had been released at midnight; he had purposely avoided checking the Internet about it before going to sleep, and he knows that as soon as he looks at his phone he’ll discover if it had totally failed or not. The rational part of his brain knows that it must have had at least modest success, as he and Jack had made videos together to promo it on each of their channels. Between the two of them there was enough interest that they’d at least make a little money off it — but the rest of him still feels like a bewildered student from Ohio who doesn’t know anything about music, who fell into success by accident.

But when he looks at his phone, the first notification is a text from Jack. He smiles faintly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and reads it.

“Our song made the top 50 on iTunes in UK :)!!!” the text says, and a grin spreads across his face despite himself. 

He finally checks the iTunes store: in the US, _With You_ by Mark Edward is solidly at number thirty-nine, less than twelve hours after its release. Mark breaks into a relieved, gleeful laugh, falling back onto his pillows and grinning stupidly at his phone. It’ll probably break into the top twenty-five by the next day.

“Number 39 in the US right now!!” he texts Jack. “So awesome!!!” When he sends out a tweet about it, thanking everyone for their interest and support, one of the first replies is from Jack: “So great to work with you :) it’s a sign we gotta do more!” He laughs and favorites the tweet.

Jang-mi calls him not long after, as he’s making breakfast.

“Hey,” he answers his phone.

“We’re in the top fifty!” she exclaims before he can say anything else. “I can’t believe it! This is so cool!”

“I know, I know! It’s great,” Mark laughs.

“God, it’s just surreal,” she continues. “My last band was so, like, niche and local, I swear it didn’t even occur to me that we could make the charts. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m hoping we’ll make it to the top twenty-five by the end of the weekend,” Mark says.

“Are you kidding? At this rate we’ll be at twenty-five by the end of the _day_ ,” she replies. Mark can’t think of a time he’s ever heard her so excited. “This is insane. Mark, we can’t just put out a single, this is a _sign_! We’ve got to put out an EP, or maybe even a full album this time next year.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he protests, stifling a skeptical laugh. “I think that’s kind of a big jump from a single to an _album_.”

“We gotta ride this hype while it’s here,” Jang-mi says, her tone suddenly serious. “Mark, if you put out a even just an EP while everyone’s still thinking about the single, it’ll be _so_ successful.”

“Well,” Mark says, unable to protest. “Well, uh, we’ll have to talk about it when we get the chance.”

“Think we could get Jack on Skype sometime today?” she asks.

Mark pauses. They’d agreed to have their _conversation_ today — the thought of it makes him suddenly anxious, breaking through his excitement.

“I don’t think so,” he finally answers. “We could probably Skype tomorrow, though.”

“Alright, tomorrow,” she says. “We gotta talk about this. I really think we could go places, Mark!”

“You’re right,” he confesses. “You’re right. It’s all just sudden, I guess.”

“Just means you gotta act fast,” she says. “Gotta grab it while it’s here.”

“Alright, alright,” Mark laughs. “I’ll talk to Jack about Skyping tomorrow and I’ll get back to you.”

When he hangs up the phone and he’s alone in his kitchen, Mark lets out a long sigh, leaning against the counter. Suddenly he feels exhausted.

But they have to talk. He texts Jack again: “So… When would be good for me to call?”

The time it takes for Jack to respond only makes him more anxious. Mark finishes making his breakfast and eats it, but barely tastes it.

Still no response from Jack — he takes a quick shower, deciding he’s going to get some work done today despite everything. When he gets out, Jack’s finally texted him back.

“Like 3pm your time? That’s good for me,” is all it says.

“Ok,” is all he can manage to reply. It’s still a few hours away — a few hours to let his anxiety simmer, or a few hours to do something productive. He gets comfortable with his laptop and starts editing.

* * *

 Jack’s alarm goes off at ten — three o’clock Mark’s time — and he takes a long, steadying breath before logging on to Skype.

He isn’t sure what to expect; he isn’t even sure what he wants to hear from Mark. But they’d agreed to have their conversation about all the shit they hadn’t been able to talk about before, and he doesn’t want to avoid it any longer.

When he’s logged in, Mark is already online. He hesitates, and decides not to start the call. Part of him is still afraid Mark will back out of the conversation entirely, the way he had when Jack had tried to talk about _them_ before — so he doesn’t want to initiate it again.

After a few tense moments, the Skype ringtone startles him out of his anxious thoughts. It’s Mark — Jack gulps down his nerves and answers the call, looking at himself on the webcam and wondering if he looks as nervous as he feels.

“Hey, Jack,” Mark says as his face appears on Jack’s screen.

“Hey,” he replies. “Our song made it to the top twenty-five here, did you see?”

“Yeah, I saw,” Mark laughs, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s really awesome.”

They both fall silent, then Jack clears his throat.

“So,” he starts, only to trail off uncomfortably. “So… let’s talk.”

“Yeah,” Mark says, and sighs. “Uh, well, I wanted to start by saying again that I’m really sorry about how our last conversation about this went… I’m not gonna let that happen again. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Jack says; he’s still not completely convinced, but it’s nice to hear. He _knows_ Mark, and Mark is nothing if not avoidant to a fault.

And then they are both silent for a long moment, Mark looking away from the screen, biting his lower lip. Jack’s heart feels like it might explode.

“Mark,” he finally says, his voice cracking. “I can’t keep on ignoring this.”

“I know,” Mark says, turning his face away. “I know, I’m sorry. I know what I wanna say, I just…” He sighs, then turns to Jack. “Okay. So the song we just released, it was…”

“Yeah?” Jack prompts him as he trails off.

“I… I wrote it about you,” Mark says, his voice trembling. “I wrote it for you, Jack.”

Part of him has known this, ever since he’d sang along to the line about his blue eyes, but the admission still makes Jack’s heart skip a beat, then start to pound frantically against his ribs. His mind is racing — he doesn’t know how to respond.

“You wrote it for me,” he repeats slowly, uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Mark says. He’s looking away from the screen again. “I wrote it about you, about what I… what I feel toward you.” He clears his throat. “We’ve been really close since we first started making videos together, but… But it’s more than that. I really want to… I mean, I don’t want to be just friends with you, Jack.”

Jack breathes in, then out, slowly. He has to respond, he has to say _something_ — but what can he say?

“I don’t want to be just friends, either,” he says finally. “I… I’m sure you know, I feel the same way about you.”

“Yeah?” Mark says, finally meeting Jack’s gaze, the tremulousness gone from his voice.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “And…”

He wants to tell Mark about Wiishu, about her support for their relationship, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. He wants to ask Mark to be his, finally, after so long of wanting and wishing but never being sure — but he can’t. He can’t make himself ask Mark to share him with someone else. Every conversation he and Wiishu have had about it suddenly seems pointless; how could _anyone_ want to share him, much less Mark? He’s not worth that much, not to Mark, not to anyone. It’s too much to ask, and he can’t make himself ask Mark.

“But…” he finally manages to choke out. “But it’s… It’s more complicated than that. I…”

The hint of a smile that had been growing on Mark’s face is suddenly gone, replaced with uncertainty and confusion. Jack’s heart plummets to the bottom of his belly.

“Jack, listen,” Mark starts to say, but Jack interrupts him.

“I just — I just need some time, Mark. To think all this over,” he says, looking away. “It’s — it’s complicated, I guess. It’s just complicated.”

“Why?” Mark asks, and his voice makes Jack want to cry.

“Because, Mark,” he says, his own voice breaking. “Because I have a girlfriend who I love, and I don’t know if I can love two people at once. I don’t know if I _should_ love two people at once, because…” He bites back the rest of his words, already certain he’s said too much. His eyes are stinging.

“Jack,” Mark says, and he sounds desperate. “Let’s just keep talking, okay? Jack, please…”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, his gaze locked on his hands clenched into fists in his lap. “I’m sorry, Mark. I just — I just need some space. I need some time to think about this. I can’t…” He stops himself short of saying _I can’t talk about this right now_ , and the irony of it is another stab of pain in his chest. “I — I can’t make a decision about all this right now.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Mark. For a long moment, they are both silent. Then he hears Mark sniffle, and he glances back at the screen to see the other man wiping his eyes.

“Okay,” Mark says, his voice shaking. “Okay.”

“I’ll… I’ll talk to you later,” Jack says faintly, looking away again.

“Yeah,” Mark says, and the Skype call ends abruptly.

Jack pushes his chair away from his desk, feeling numb. Whatever he had expected of their conversation, it hadn’t been _that_. He sits staring down at his hands for a long moment, his mind racing, then he grabs his phone and texts Wiishu.

“Can we talk?” he sends, but it’s late and despite himself he doesn’t expect her to respond.

The whole situation feels impossible. Why had he ever let himself get his hopes up? Mark deserved better: someone so much better than him, something better than a ridiculously long distance relationship with someone who couldn’t stick with loving just one person like a normal goddamn human being. He never should have let himself entertain the idea that he could make this work, that _they_ could make things work.

He finds himself sitting with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his desk, when the Skype ringtone starts to play again. Wiishu’s calling him. He slowly raises his head to look at the computer, as if in a dream, and licks his lips anxiously before answering the call, purposely keeping his camera off.

“Hey,” he chokes out, and it’s all he can manage.

“What’s going on?” she asks him, worry tinging her voice. “I saw your text and I’ve been calling you.”

“I…” Jack starts, then trails off. He doesn’t know how to explain. “I… I fucked it up with Mark again.”

She exhales quickly, as if she’d been holding her breath. “I thought you guys were going to be talking about getting together today?”

“We were,” he replies, shaking his head. “We did. But I, I don’t know, I panicked.” He sighs, the weight of it all hitting him suddenly. He really _has_ fucked it up this time.

“Tell me what happened,” she urges him on, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I just _panicked_ ,” he repeats helplessly. “I don’t know. I got scared. I don’t deserve this, Wiish, I don’t deserve _him._ ”

“Jack,” she interrupts, and her voice is as close to angry as he’s ever heard it. “We’ve been over this, babe, we’ve talked about it so many times.”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

“But you don’t!” she protests. “You keep saying you do but you’re not acting like it. Jack, Mark wanted to have this conversation with you. He knows about me, about us. Do you think he really would have had that conversation in the first place if he wasn’t open to the possibility of you being with both of us at the same time?”

_Of course not_ , he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to respond. He thought he _had_ known, but making it real was a different matter entirely.

“I don’t know what happened,” he says faintly. 

They’re both silent, and for a horrible moment Jack wonders if he’s lost them both.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Wiishu finally says, breaking the silence. “What exactly did you tell Mark?”

“I, um, I said I needed some time to think,” Jack answers feebly. He hates how ridiculous he sounds. “That was about it.”

“Okay. That’s okay,” she says. “Take some time to think about things if you need to, Jack, but I think you know what you need to do.”

“Yeah,” he agrees faintly. “I don’t know. It’s probably too late now.”

“He’ll be mad, but I think he likes you more than you think he does,” she says. “Just tell him honestly what you feel. I know you guys can work it out.”

“I don’t know,” Jack confesses. It’s too late for that, he thinks. “I hope so.”


	12. twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again everyone! I promised the next chapter would be here much sooner, and here it is! Please enjoy!! :) I'm going to really try to get back in the habit of posting a chapter every week (trust me, the story is far from over, haha).
> 
> I don't have much else to say about this chapter, except that I hope it makes you smile and that it doesn't seem too cheesy, haha. As always, thanks for reading, and especially for your comments and feedback! :)

He doesn’t know where the time goes, but at midnight Mark is still laying on his sofa, huddled under a thin blanket and curled around a pillow. He’d tried to get a bit of editing done after ending the Skype call with Jack, but mostly he’d only managed to lay there and watch videos while trying not to cry (which he was only partly successful at).

At some point his phone had started ringing and he’d picked it up, his heart leaping suddenly into his throat, but it had been Jang-mi and so he let it go to voicemail. He still hadn’t listened to the message she’d left.

It’s midnight, but he knows sleep won’t come easy and getting up seems like too much effort, so he gathers up more pillows and gets as comfortable as he can manage. Across from him his laptop is plugged in to the wall, so the Game Grumps playlist he’s had on autoplay can continue without interruption. Mark watches the screen with half-lidded eyes, trying not to think about how shitty the day had turned out despite his high hopes. He catches himself playing their conversation over in his head for what seems like the millionth time and squeezes his eyes shut to block it out.

Then his phone buzzes. Mark digs it out from under the pillow he’s laying on, eyes still on the screen where Arin is cursing loudly between laughs. When he checks it, it’s a text from Jack, and his heart starts hammering again.

Part of him doesn’t want to even look at what the other man has to say, but that part is quickly overpowered by the rest of him that is beyond desperate for Jack’s response to their abandoned conversation. He unlocks his phone to read the text message.

“You awake?” is all it reads, and his heart slows a little at the innocuousness of it.

“Yeah,” he types, and after a moment’s hesitation, adds, “It’s pretty early for you isn’t it?”

“Can we talk?” the reply comes quickly, sending his heart pounding again. He sits up, the blanket falling to his waist, and takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he replies, pulling his laptop closer and exiting out of YouTube. He logs into Skype — Jack is already online — and wonders if the other man has slept at all since their conversation. It takes only a moment for the Skype ringtone to start playing, and after a steadying breath, he answers the call.

Jack’s face appears on his screen, serious and pale in the morning light falling on his face — it looks like he’s sitting in his kitchen, a steaming mug in his hands. Just the sight of him, messy hair and tired eyes and all, makes Mark’s heart ache with longing.

“Hey,” he croaks out, his throat raw. Jack smiles weakly at him.

“Hey,” he replies. “Mark… You look like shite.”

Mark lets out a faint laugh, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. I feel like it.”

Jack’s expression darkens again. “Yeah… I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Now we’re even,” Mark replies. Jack visibly winces on the screen.

“I deserve that,” he admits, shaking his head.

“Had enough time to think?” Mark asks.

“I… Yeah,” Jack replies slowly, glancing away.

They fall into silence, Mark waiting, Jack biting his lower lip and looking away. Mark leans back into his pillows, too tired to do anything but wait for Jack to say whatever it is he wants to say.

Finally Jack clears his throat and looks back at Mark. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod.

Jack visibly hesitates again. When he speaks, his voice is shaking. “So… I’m bisexual.”

Mark waits, but Jack doesn’t say anything else. “I… I know,” he says after a moment. “I mean, I figured as much.”

Jack shakes his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t talk about it, but I suppose it’s not hard to guess.” He sighs, his voice still tremulous. “But, um… The first person I ever told was my sister, the one closest to me in age. I was thirteen, and… And she said that I couldn’t be bisexual, that I had to pick one or the other. That people who said they were bisexual were just… They were just sluts who wanted an excuse.”

Mark lets out a long, slow breath. “That’s… harsh.”

“We were young,” Jack says. “And she’s not like that now, not at all. But it was the first time I had ever told anyone, and, y’know, a lot of people really do believe it, what she said. Even if she hadn’t said that to me, someone would have eventually. And I was thirteen, so I believed it. And… part of me still believes it, I guess.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, still looking away from Mark. “I know that’s not true, none of it, but I know that there are people out there who really do think that all bi people are like that. And I, I don’t…” Jack trails off, then rubs his eyes with a groan.

“You can tell me,” Mark says softly. Jack takes in a deep, slow breath.

“I don’t want to play into that stereotype,” he finally continues, sounding on the verge of tears. “I don’t want people to look at me and think that I’m… that I can’t keep it in my pants, or that I’m greedy or selfish or whatever. God, Mark, I especially don’t want you to think that of me.”

“I don’t,” Mark says quickly. “Jack, I know you. I would never think of you like that.”

Jack still won’t meet his gaze, but he nods slightly in response.

“It’s not an excuse,” Jack mutters, rubbing a hand through his hair. “But that’s why I kept… freaking out over all this. Why I keep freaking out.”

“I understand,” Mark says — and he _does_ understand, despite all of his own misgivings and frustration. He gets it, and he can’t stay angry at him.

“But it’s no excuse,” Jack repeats, and he looks back at Mark, finally meeting his gaze. His voice is still shaking, but his tone is resolute. “As much as I love my girlfriend… God, Mark, it doesn’t make me feel anything less toward you.”

Their eyes are still locked. Mark feels a slow, tired smile spread across his face in spite of himself. “I know,” he murmurs in reply. “I know your heart is bigger than that.” It sounds silly when he says it, but it makes Jack’s lips twitch into a shy grin.

“So,” Jack says, and he breathes in slowly, steadily. “So, I… I want make it work, Mark. I want to be with you, if — if you want to give it a try.”

He doesn’t look away from Mark; his blue eyes on the screen are wide and bright and earnest. Mark grins, and then he starts to laugh helplessly.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding and holding his sides to keep from falling apart. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Yeah?” Jack says, breaking into a smile.

“Yeah!” Mark exclaims, and he rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, I’m just — I’m really happy, Jack.”

“ _I’m_ happy,” Jack says, and he finally looks away, grinning widely as he runs his fingers through the stubble on his cheeks. “You — You really mean it?”

“I _really_ mean it.”

“So this is it? We’re… boyfriends?”

_Boyfriends_. The word makes Mark start to laugh again, warmth spreading across his cheeks and along his neck, down to his heart.

“My boyfriend,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough from lack of sleep. “My boyfriend Jack…” The feel of the words in his mouth is good and right and, honestly, more than a little arousing. On the screen, Jack is blushing, covering his face with still-shaking hands.

“God, Mark,” he says, his voice muffled. “I can’t believe I really asked. I really said it. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“Am _I_ dreaming?” Mark asks with a laugh. “No, I don’t think it’s a dream. You’re always here with me when I dream about you, and usually wearing a lot less.”

“ _When_ you dream about me?” Jack repeats, laughing along. “Mark, what the hell is wrong with us, why didn’t we have this conversation ages ago?”

Mark shrugs and shakes his head, grinning. They look at each other for a long moment, then he hears himself say, “I really wanna kiss you.”

Jack grins and looks away, still blushing. “Y-Yeah, me too. That’s the worst part of being long distance.”

“I’ve never been in a long distance relationship before,” Mark murmurs, feeling suddenly shy. “And… I’ve never dated another guy before, either.”

“Really?” Jack asks, and he sounds truly surprised. Mark looks away, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I don’t know what that makes me. I mean, I’ve been attracted to guys before, but…” He trails off uncertainly — _that_ seems like a conversation for another time. “So, um, be patient with me, I guess? It’s a learning curve…”

“It’s not that different, really,” Jack assures him with a chuckle. “And I think we already know each other pretty well.” He lets out a long, slow sigh as he leans back in his chair. “God, this is real,” he murmurs, and Mark chuckles.

“I can’t believe _you_ asked _me,_ ” he says, and Jack laughs, nodding.

“I didn’t think I could,” he admits, still sounding incredulous. “But… I was tired of messing things up. I wanted to make things right, with you and with Wiishu.” He hesitates. “Which, um… We should have a talk, all three of us, sometime. Just to — to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees. The thought makes him a little nervous, but the giddy butterflies in his stomach are still drowning out all his other emotions. “That reminds me, Jang-mi wants to Skype as a group, too.”

“Should we, uh… _tell_ Jang-mi?” Jack asks, his brows furrowing. Mark hesitates.

“…I don’t know,” he finally says. “Honestly, Jack, I’m really tired, and I can’t think about anything except you right now.”

“Jeez,” Jack chuckles, his face flushing anew. “Alright, we’ll decide on all that later. Christ on a _bike_ , this still feels surreal, Mark.”

Mark nods in agreement, leaning back on the couch. But his body relaxing into the cushions makes his exhaustion hit him all at once, his eyes slipping closed then fluttering open as he catches himself.

“Shit,” he hisses, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry…”

“You haven’t slept at all, huh?”

“No,” Mark says. “I don’t want to sleep, honestly, but it’s been a… a really long day.”

“You should go to bed. It’s alright.”

Mark shakes his head. “No, I… It sounds silly, but I don’t want to go to sleep and then wake up and this was all a dream.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “Aw, Mark. It’s not _that_ surreal. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“You sure? You promise?”

“I promise,” Jack reassures him, and Mark grins sleepily at him.

“Okay,” he says. “I trust you.” He re-arranges the pillows on the couch and gets settled.

“Mark, I meant go to your actual _bed_ ,” Jack chastises him, laughing.

“Same difference,” Mark says, yawning. “I’m already here. There’s pillows and a blanket.” Jack laughs, and Mark watches him through half-closed eyes — he can feel the stupid grin still on his face. “Jack, my _boyfriend…_ ”

“Your boyfriend,” Jack agrees, his voice gentle, his eyes soft.

“Stay with me till I fall asleep?” Mark asks, and Jack’s smile widens.

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’m gonna make breakfast, but I’ll turn off my mic so you can sleep.”

“Thank you,” Mark murmurs, already feeling sleep starting to creep into the edges of his vision.

Jack smiles at him — his _boyfriend,_ he keeps thinking, his boyfriend, _his_.

“Goodnight, Mark,” he says, and Mark mumbles something in response. His eyes are just open enough to watch as Jack gets up, the screen shaking as he carries his laptop from the table to a counter with a view of the fridge and the stove. He watches Jack’s silhouette, blurry and vague to his tired eyes, move back and forth between the two and occasionally glance back at the screen. He thinks he can make out a smile on the other man’s face each time he does.

When Mark half-wakes a few hours later in the middle of the night, his laptop has turned off and the room is pitch black. He digs around the pillows to find his phone to check the time, only to find a text from Jack.

“It wasn’t a dream, promise. Sleep well <3,” the message reads, and the little text heart makes Mark grin so widely his eyes start to tear up. He settles back down to sleep again, their song playing in his head.


	13. thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I know I said I'd be aiming for weekly updates last chapter and it's now been..... three weeks. My apologies! It seems like every time I try to commit to a schedule, real life has other plans :P Again, I apologize for the wait; with the holidays coming up quickly I can't say for sure that I'll be able to stick to a weekly schedule, but that is still my goal!
> 
> Another reason for my slowness in updating, I found this chapter unexpectedly difficult to write; I think I'm still just trying to ease into the new dynamic going on between the characters and I haven't found it quite yet. If you have any feedback on this chapter I'd love to hear it :)
> 
> And, as always, thanks so much for reading, and especially for your comments and kudos. I'm thankful for you all! :)

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you guys?”

The accusation comes mid-sentence; Jang-mi had been in the middle of explaining why they had to start working on an album _now_ when Mark and Jack had met each other’s gaze on the screen and burst into a fit of giggles for the fourth time, barely ten minutes into the Skype call.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mark stammers between laughs. “Sorry, Jang-mi, go on.” She punches his shoulder playfully then crosses her arms, scowling.

“Nope, I’m not falling for it this time. You don’t get to laugh at some inside joke a million times and _not_ share with the class,” she retorts.

“I’m listening, I swear,” Jack says from the laptop screen, running a hand through his messy hair. But Jang-mi only shakes her head.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she insists, and Jack glances at Mark uncertainly.

“Well?” he asks, and Mark rolls his eyes.

“Whoa, why is this my decision?” he protests. Jack laughs.

“Just tell her, Mark. It’s fine with me,” Jack replies.

“Are you sure?” Mark asks, but it’s more for his own peace of mind than concern for Jack. If they tell her, Jang-mi will be the first person he’s told — one day in, he thinks he’s okay with that, but it still seems daunting and all too _real_.

“Go on,” Jack encourages him, and Mark lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He turns in his chair, looking directly at Jang-mi who raises an expectant eyebrow at him.

“Okay, um,” he says. “The truth is, Jack and I are, um, together. Like _together_ together.”

For a moment, everyone is silent — then Jack starts to laugh from the screen.

“Together together,” he echoes, still laughing. Mark laughs along nervously, but Jang-mi’s expression is suddenly unreadable.

“Are you serious?” she asks, her tone uncertain. “If you’re fucking with me I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I’m serious, really,” Mark says. “I’ll show you the texts if you want. We just, um, talked last night, and, uh… Yeah.”

“O… _kay_ …” Jang-mi says slowly. She looks between them with an expression that seems almost worried. Mark glances slowly between her and Jack, bewildered. When he looks at Jack, a look of sudden understanding flashes in the other man’s blue eyes.

“My girlfriend knows,” Jack interjects quickly, raising a placating hand. “She knows, and it’s okay.” Understanding clicks in Mark’s head just as Jang-mi leans back with a relieved sigh.

“ _Good_ ,” she says. “Because I was about to say, that’s a shitty position you’d have put me in.”

“Sorry,” Jack says with a nervous laugh. “I get that it’s a little, uh… unconventional.”

Jang-mi raises her hands level with her shoulders. “Hey, no judgment, okay? Look. Whatever you guys are doing on your time is your business. Monogamy’s not for everyone, yadda yadda, I know. I’m just here for the music.” Her expression suddenly hardens. “So don’t let this get in the way of the music, alright? My last band broke up because of relationship problems. It’s not an experience I’d care to have again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark reassures her. “It’s only been a day. I don’t think you need to worry.”

“I keep telling Mark he’s gonna find a better drummer to replace me with one of these days anyway,” Jack says with a chuckle. Jang-mi smiles, stifling a laugh.

“Alright, well, I guess I can’t expect you guys to get any work done today,” she says, her grin turning sly.

“Work is all I do,” Jack retorts, balling his hands into fists. Mark starts to laugh.

“You’re so cute,” he says — it feel strange to be able to speak the thought aloud, after countless times of thinking it but never being able to say it. Jack scowls, his cheeks reddening.

“Shut it! I’m serious!” he protests, but he’s half-laughing as he says it. Jang-mi groans, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know if I _want_ to work with you guys if you’re gonna be all cute and gross,” she says.

“Okay, okay,” Mark says, chuckling. “Serious face. Here we go.” He covers his face with his hands, takes a deep breath, and then lowers them, looking at Jang-mi with as stoic an expression as he can manage. “Business time,” he says, his voice as low as he can get it.

Jang-mi bursts into laughter, and he hears Jack start to laugh from the computer, and he breaks into a grin.

“Come _on,_ ” he protests. “I was trying to be serious!”

“This is hopeless,” Jang-mi says between giggles. “You guys _really_ aren’t gonna get anything done today.”

“More like _Mark_ isn’t gonna get anything done,” Jack interjects, and Mark huffs in protest, folding his arms across his chest.

“Excuse you, I just _said_ , business time! And I said it _very_ seriously, too,” he says matter-of-factly, glancing at Jang-mi who is shaking her head with an exasperated face, biting back a laugh.

In the end, though, they end up getting nothing done. They manage to talk briefly about the single’s success and come to an agreement that, yes, they should do _something_ more while they can, but that’s as far as they get before they get irrevocably sidetracked.

Eventually, Jang-mi excuses herself and stands up to go.

“I’ll walk you out,” Mark says, standing up with her. He glances back at the laptop screen, grinning at Jack. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jack waves him away, a shy smile spreading across his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ugh, gag me,” Jang-mi teases, rolling her eyes. “Bye, Jack.”

When they reach the door, she turns back to face Mark before he can open it for her.

“I just want to say,” she says quickly, before he can ask. “I’m happy for you guys, really. I’m glad you listened to my advice and told him how you feel.”

“Thanks,” Mark replies with an embarrassed chuckle.

“But, listen,” she continues. “Just be careful, I guess. I know you guys already know how to live in the public eye, but just be careful for how much you let it bleed into your work, you know? For us, too. You guys are my band now, I won’t be just a third wheel, alright?”

“No, no, of course not,” Mark says quickly, his expression sobering quickly. “Neither of us want that. And if it starts getting like that, tell us. I don’t want you to feel that way.”

“Well, we’re on the same page, then,” she says, looking away and adjusting the strap of the messenger bag on her shoulder. “Good to know.”

“I mean it, okay? Tell us if you start feeling like a third wheel,” Mark insists. “I want you to always feel like you can work with us.”

She laughs at that. “As if. You guys are already impossible to work with.”

“Oh, well,” Mark laughs. “I guess it’s too late then.” She laughs, shaking her head.

“Come here,” she says, pulling him into a hug. He hugs her back gingerly, uncertainly — he can count the number of times they’ve hugged on one hand. “You guys are good for each other. I’m not worried, you know?”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence,” Mark says, suppressing a grin. She steps away from him.

“I’ll see you later,” she says with a knowing grin, and with that she breezes through the front door.

“Bye,” he calls after her, and she waves with one hand.

He sits back down at the table, Jack watching him from the laptop screen. 

“Well,” he says with a slow sigh, meeting the other man’s blue eyes. “She knows now.”

Jack chuckles. “She knows,” he agrees. “I trust her, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mark says. “I meant it more as like… Things are getting real.”

“It’s real,” Jack echoes, nodding his head. “So, uh… If you don’t have any plans right now, um, my girlfriend’s been texting me and she’s free to talk right now if you want to bring her into the Skype call.”

Mark hesitates. Hearing Jack say ‘ _my girlfriend_ ’, right after affirming their own relationship — it makes him feel _something_ , not quite jealous or sad or anything, just something foreign and uncertain. But it’s something he thinks — he _knows_ — he can learn to get used to.

“Okay,” he says with a nod. “Let’s talk.”

“Alright,” Jack says, grinning at him but looking a little apprehensive. “I’ll add her to the conversation.”

Mark glances away as Jack’s eyes start to wander around the screen. He’s known of Jack’s girlfriend, he’s seen the pictures and even looked through her blog once or twice, but now they’re really meeting. He’s meeting his boyfriend’s girlfriend — it almost feels like meeting his parents, equally intimidating in a different way.

But then the screen splits and her face appears next to Jack’s. Mark smiles, hoping he looks less nervous than he feels. She grins back, and waves.

“Hi, Jack. Hi, Mark,” she says. Jack murmurs back a shy hello, but Mark is struck by how classically _pretty_ she is, high cheekbones and bright eyes, her long hair swept to one side and falling past her shoulder.

“Wiishu,” he manages, shaking himself out of the awkward silence he’d created. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“You too,” she agrees, stifling a chuckle with her hand to her mouth. “For what it’s worth, I love your videos.”

Mark bursts out laughing at that. “Well, thank you. That means a lot.”

Then they’re all smiling uncertainly at each other, until Jack clears his throat and stammers out, “So, uh. Let’s talk.”

“Okay,” Wiishu says quickly, meeting Mark’s eyes on the screen. “First things first, I want to make sure we’re all in agreement of the, uh, situation we have going on.”

“Right,” Mark says.

“So I’m dating Jack,” she continues. “And you’re also dating Jack. But _we —_ “ She gestures between herself and the screen, and Mark nods. “We aren’t dating each other.”

“That’s right,” Mark agrees, nodding (though, he thinks to himself, the vision of himself with Jack under one arm and her under the other may as well be something out of an absolute _dream_ ).

“Alright. Good,” she says. “So we’re all on the same page. I have some ideas for some ground rules, I guess you would call them.”

“Let’s hear it,” Jack says, and Mark nods.

“Okay,” she says. “Well, I’ll be blunt. Jack and I try to visit each other every so often, and when we’re together we, you know, have sex.”

Mark laughs. “I, uh, I figured that,” he replies — on the screen, Jack glances away, his face reddening. Wiishu laughs along.

“I know!” she replies. “But, what I mean is, is when you guys see each other, sex happens, it’s fine. So, you know, it’s not necessary to, like, tell each other each time it happens, but we all understand it’s gonna happen and it’s fine and no one’s gonna get jealous.”

“Well, I might be a little jealous,” Mark says, grinning coyly. “Of Jack, I mean.”

They both start laughing at that, Jack rubbing an embarrassed hand across his face.

“Jack’s right, you _are_ a flirt,” Wiishu says through her laughter. Mark shrugs, unable to deny it.

“Guilty as charged,” he agrees.

“Christ, you’re ridiculous,” Jack mutters, shaking his head despite his wide grin.

“Anyway, ground rules, go on,” Mark says with a wave of his hand.

“The second rule is this,” Wiishu says, raising an admonishing finger. “You have to treat Jack well.”

“Oh, please,” Jack protests.

“No, I’m serious!” she interrupts, shaking her head. “Jack is the sweetest and he has the biggest, kindest heart, and if you don’t treat him right, Mark, bad things will happen.”

“You’re embarrassin’ me,” Jack protests, his cheeks flushing again. 

“It’s fine,” Mark says quickly, glancing between them and flashing a placating smile. “I get it, really. And I definitely intend to treat Jack well.”

“I’m right here!” Jack howls. “And I’m not in need of any defending!”

“Good,” Wiishu says, looking pointedly at Mark. “He’ll treat you right, too.”

“Now you guys are just being _dicks_ ,” Jack sighs, chuckling.

“I’m being serious!” she corrects. “I’m sure Mark is nice and all, but you’re my boyfriend, so I gotta protect you.”

“Well, now we all know who’s wearing the pants here,” Jack says, shaking his head in resignation. Mark laughs.

“Any other rules you want to lay out?” he asks. She shrugs.

“Nothing else that’s not standard relationship stuff,” she says. “Be nice, communicate, all that. However discrete you two want to be about yourselves is up to you. I guess we should all have each other’s phone numbers and other info, just in case. But that’s all I can think of, really.”

“Sure,” Mark says.

“I can send you guys each other’s info,” Jack says, reaching off-screen for his phone.

“Okay, well, that’s really all I wanted to say,” Wiishu says, smiling widely at Mark. “We’re all in for an adventure, I think.”

* * *

When Wiishu logs out of Skype, Jack leans back in his computer chair with a long sigh. It’s just him and Mark again. On his screen, Mark starts to laugh.

“God, Jack,” he says. “She’s a whirlwind.”

“Tell me about it,” he laughs. He sits back up, eyeing Mark with a grin. “You _like_ her.”

“I mean,” Mark says, suddenly stammering. “How could I not, gorgeous as she is? I do have eyes, you know.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack replies, giving an unconvinced chuckle.

“Let’s just get settled into what we have going on now before trying to change things up more,” Mark says, a blush forming on his cheeks. “I mean, you heard her. She’s your girlfriend, not mine.”

“And _you_ ,” he agrees with a grin, “are my boyfriend.” Mark only blushes further, glancing away.

“So when do you think we can see each other?” he asks. “Since, you know, I’m your boyfriend and all.”

Jack looks away as well, taken aback. It’s not something he’d given any thought to, not yet, although it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Mark is eager to see him. After being in a string of long-distance relationships, it’s not like he’s dying for it, but he should’ve expected Mark to be eager to be with him soon.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “Christmas is coming up pretty soon, probably too soon for travel plans, and, um, Wiishu’s coming to see me for New Year’s, so…” He shrugs, glancing back at Mark. The other man’s expression is unreadable, but when he sees Jack watching him he smiles faintly.

“Okay,” Mark says, and he sighs. “That’s fine. It’s only been a day. We’ll figure it out.”

“We’ve got time,” Jack agrees. “We’ll figure something out. Promise.”

 


	14. fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!
> 
> First off I'd like to apologize for how long this update took. I've had a lot of stuff going on in my personal life and I haven't been in the best place to keep writing a priority, but I really am sorry that it's been months since the last chapter. I love working on this fic and I want to see it through to the end, but it's just been tough going for me lately. So for that, I apologize. I can't make any promises about how frequent or regular updates will be from this point on, but please know that updates WILL happen. I'm not done with this story yet!
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is on the longer and fluffier side to make up for my absence, and there's also some setup to move the plot forward in the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

It all still mostly feels like a dream to Jack, as the weeks pass and his life settles into a new routine. He films at least three videos a day, starting up a stockpile to prepare for the holidays, but being busy makes him happy far more than it tires him out. The regular Skype meetings he has with Jang-mi and Mark start becoming bookended with private conversations with Mark, along with their usual calls early in the morning or late at night and text messages through the day. His whole life seems too good to be true, a joyful idea floating somewhere just outside of reality.

But the week before Christmas, he gets a package in the mail addressed from Los Angeles — for a brief moment he panics, thinking his personal address had been leaked somehow. But when he looks at the full return address, it’s from Mark. He tosses the rest of his mail onto the kitchen table and tears the padded envelope open with a laugh, revealing a soft, wooly scarf in a deep forest green, along with a small card reading, “Jack — Stay warm up there! xoxo, Mark”.

“You didn’t tell me you were sending me a gift!!” he texts the other man quickly. “Now I look like an asshole.”

After a moment, Mark only responds: “Merry Christmas!!!”

He pulls the scarf on with a chuckle — in his apartment, he doesn’t need the warmth despite the overcast skies outside, but the soft weight of it around his shoulders makes him feel suddenly grounded. He’s wearing a scarf his boyfriend sent him for Christmas. He pulls it up over his mouth to hide his sudden wide, silly grin. It feels like something out of a movie.

Of course, then he _has_ to get something for Mark in time for Christmas. His first thought is to one-up the other man by getting him a knit sweater or maybe a flannel (probably the flannel, as it’d be much more flattering on the other man, he thinks with a faint blush) but he’s not quite confident enough to guess what size Mark wears and much too proud to ask. A scarf seems like his best bet, he decides, so he picks one out on Amazon in a red buffalo plaid and has it sent to Mark. It seems like a decent second best to a flannel shirt.

The next morning, he wakes up to his phone buzzing - he opens his eyes enough to see that it’s a Skype call from Mark and answers groggily, the phone pointed vaguely in the direction of his face. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Mark’s voice comes crackly through the speaker, but his smile is clear as day. “This is random, but have you heard anything about ‘Evolution Gamer Convention’? I just got an email from them but I’m not sure how legit it is.”

“I — uh — I don’t know,” Jack says, rubbing his eyes. “I just woke up.”

“Oh, shit, what time is it? Did I wake you? Shit, I’m really sorry, Jack,” Mark stammers. Jack shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine, it’s about the time I should be getting up anyway,” he says, and he reaches for his laptop on his bedside table. “Uh, let me check my email.”

“I didn’t think at all,” Mark continues on the other end, an apologetic grin on his face. “It’s just that this convention says it’s in the UK, so I’d figured you’d probably have heard of it before me.”

He glances over his most recent business emails — sure enough, there’s a message from an Evolution Gamer Convention, sent a few hours ago.

“I have something from them too,” he says, clicking open the message.

“It looks legit, but I’ve never heard about it before,” Mark says. “Are they asking you to host a panel and stuff too?”

“Uh… yeah,” Jack says as he skims over the message. “You said it’s UK-based?”

“Yeah, it looks like it’s happening in London in March,” he says.

“I wonder if Felix is gonna be there,” Jack murmurs. Mark laughs.

“You know, I should’ve thought of that first,” he sighs in self-deprecation. “He probably knows about it if anyone does, it’s right in his backyard.”

“I’m glad you thought of me first, though,” Jack says with a yawn.

“God, don’t be so cute first thing in the morning,” Mark chuckles.

“Can’t tell me what to do,” Jack retorts, grinning. “I’m looking on their website and this convention seems legit enough, it’s just the first one. It looks like they have a couple UK Let’s Players already lined up to host panels or have signings. I think it’s legit.”

“I think so too. I just wanted to ask you about it,” Mark says, and he visibly hesitates. “I mean… I was thinking, if we both go, it’d be a good time to meet up and spend some time together, maybe, before it happens.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Jack laughs, shaking his head. “You asked in literally the most roundabout way possible,” he chuckles, grinning at Mark’s hesitant expression on his phone. “You big goof. You should’ve said that to begin with.”

“You’re one to talk about beating around the bush,” Mark retorts, but he’s grinning back from the screen.

“I think that it’d fit into my busy schedule,” Jack teases.

“And, you know,” Mark continues. “Maybe it could be a good excuse to have our first live performance as a band, too.”

Jack hesitates, taken aback this time. Despite the success of their single, it still catches him by surprised every time Mark says something about _their band_.

“Well, maybe,” he agrees. “I think that would depend more on what the con staff is looking for.”

“Don’t they know who I _am?”_ Mark says, his voice lilting in mock haughtiness. Jack laughs, and Mark grins at him. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask about it when I get back to them. If they already want us to do signings and stuff, it might bring in even more people if we perform.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Jack agrees in a murmur. Part of him feels suddenly overwhelmed — he’s only just woken up and Mark wants to make plans to go to a convention and perform together and _meet_ for the first time as _boyfriends_. It seems like too much all at once — but Mark’s grin on his screen is so earnest and eager and his eyes are so full of affection and joy that Jack can’t help but smile back at him. “You should ask, and we’ll go from there.”

* * *

 

He picks up Wiishu from the airport on Christmas Eve. Every time he sees her she seems more beautiful, more ethereal — but she’s warm and solid and _real_ in his arms, and her laugh as he picks her up and spins her around, her luggage slipping from her hands to the floor, overflows his heart with joy.

“I missed you,” she says as he sets her down, kissing along his scruffy jawline.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he replies.

“Let’s take a picture to send to Mark,” she says, and he laughs.

“Alright,” he agrees, and she grabs his phone, lifting it at an angle just above their heads. Her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her waist — it makes him wish Mark were there to share in it all, but a photo is the best they can manage for now.

“Here,” Wiishu says, handing his phone back after they’ve taken the picture. He glances at it briefly, marveling at how much more photogenic she is than him, and sends it to Mark, captioned with, “Wish you were here!!”

“He’s probably asleep,” Jack says they gather her luggage back up and make their way out of the airport. “It’s still pretty early in California.”

“I always forget,” she admits sheepishly. “Oh, well. It’ll be something nice to wake up to, I hope.”

“You’re sweet,” he says with a chuckle, putting his arm around her shoulders with his free hand.

“I’m _nervous,”_ she retorts, shaking her head. “Just how much of your family am I gonna be meeting tonight?”

“Just my parents and siblings,” he says. “And their spouses and kids… Yeah, that’s not very reassuring, is it?”

“Not really,” she agrees, and they laugh.

“It’s alright. You’ll be with me,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “And most of the focus is gonna be on my little nieces and nephews anyway. Christmas is about the little kids.”

“I hope so,” she agrees with a chuckle.

They linger in his apartment for only a little while — her presence there feels so natural and effortless he forgets that she doesn’t always live there with him until she has to go digging through her luggage to find her makeup — before heading out to catch the train to his parent’s house. When they arrive, his mother hugs them both as tightly and warmly as if Wiishu were already a fixture in their family.

As they step inside, his mother pulls him aside and says in a low voice, “Your cousin Seamus is here with us today, too.”

“Oh,” he says, surprised. “He’s not with his family?”

“No, but…” she sighs. “He’s having a bit of a spat with his parents, but I couldn’t very well let him be alone on Christmas so we invited him over.”

“What happened?” Jack asks, his heart starting to sink — he thinks he already knows. His mother shakes her head.

“You ought to ask him yourself, I don’t want to tell more than he’s comfortable with,” she replies.

“Alright,” Jack agrees, glancing down the hall where Wiishu is hovering uncertainly at the entryway to the living room. He gestures toward her. “I’d better get along.”

He joins her and, grabbing her hand, they step into the living room.

“There’s the little man himself,” his eldest brother exclaims, and soon they’re swarmed by his siblings, nieces, and nephews clamoring to greet him and meet Wiishu.

When they’ve finally made it _into_ the room, Jack’s youngest nephew is in his arms chattering in his ear about the presents he’s hoping for, and Wiishu is already deep in conversation with his closest sister about what sounds like eyeliner, of all things — he finally gets to glance around the room and spots Seamus sitting in an armchair in the corner. They meet eyes and the other man grins, then gets up and heads for the patio.

“Go back to your ma, alright?” Jack says to his nephew, setting him down and patting his shoulder. The boy runs off to join his siblings where they’ve gathered near the pile of presents, and Jack follows Seamus outside.

“Hey,” he says, pulling the door shut behind him. “Wasn’t expecting to see you, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be here, little man,” his cousin says with a faint grin, then sighs. “Normally I’d be having a smoke right now but I’m trying to quit. Hell of a time to.”

“What happened? My ma wouldn’t tell me, but…” Jack prompts. Seamus sighs again, looking out into the yard which backed into the woods.

“You’ve probably already guessed,” he says. “I, uh, came out to my parents, finally, and they were… weird about it. It seemed like they didn’t want me over for Christmas so here I am. I’m glad your ma invited me.” He starts chewing savagely on the nail of his pointer finger. “God, I picked a shitty time to quit. Nicotine patches don’t give me anything to do with my hands, you know?”

He doesn’t, but he puts a hand on the other man’s arm sympathetically. “I’m glad you’re here,” he repeats. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Oh, don’t be,” Seamus says, shaking his head. “I knew this would happen when I did it. Should’ve thought it out a bit more, maybe waited ‘til after the holidays, but it is what it is.” He pats Jack’s shoulder in return. “I appreciate it, though.”

They stand in silence for a long moment, both staring out at the woods where the sun is sinking down into the trees, then Seamus looks back at him with a grin.

“You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was a fuckin’ _model_ , by the way,” he says, shoving Jack’s shoulder. Jack bursts into laughter, stumbling back then shoving Seamus in return.

“You should be tellin’ her that, not me,” he retorts, still laughing.

“I’m glad you brought her,” Seamus says.

Jack hesitates. Suddenly he wants to tell Seamus about Mark — he’s hardly told _anyone_ about Mark and the unspoken words leave a sour taste in his mouth — but he’s not sure if it’s a good idea, all things considered. But Seamus catches the change in his expression and elbows him in the ribs.

“You got something to say, say it,” he prompts. Then his expression changes suddenly, his brows furrowing. “Shit, she’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

“Christ, no!” Jack exclaims, laughing. “God, I hope not. I haven’t seen her in months!” Seamus starts laughing along, one hand over his heart.

“Good,” he wheezes out. “You had me scared for a second there. Bringing her to meet your family then dropping the news… I could _see_ it.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Jack repeats, shaking his head. He might as well say it. “No, I wanted to tell you… Um, my girlfriend knows this and is cool with it, but, uh, I’m also seeing someone else, a… a guy, in America.”

Seamus looks at him for a long moment, his mouth still twitched into a grin from his cajoling. Jack’s heart starts to pound once, twice, then Seamus lets out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head, his grin widening.

“Good Lord,” he murmurs, putting a hand over his mouth. “A model girlfriend and a movie star boyfriend. How in the hell did you get all the luck?”

* * *

 

It’s New Year’s Eve and Mark is well and truly drunk by ten thirty. What had begun as him inviting a few friends over had escalated into a full-blown party in his cramped little apartment. He finds himself dancing alongside Danny in the living room with Arin watching and laughing from the couch — his friends Matt and Ryan are talking in the kitchen with someone else, he can’t see who, maybe a girlfriend but he's not certain. In the back of his head he knows there are more people around, that most of the Game Grumps crew are here somewhere, but he’s drunk and happy and dancing with Danny and the Time’s Square ball drop festivities are playing on the television.

“You’d better hope Jack doesn’t find out about this,” Danny teases, his breath warm in Mark’s ear, as Arin joins them on the impromptu dance floor.

“ _Jack_ ,” Mark repeats, his brain jolting to attention. What time was it in Ireland? What time was it _here_? It couldn’t possibly have hit midnight yet. “How much longer till the ball drops?”

“We’ve got… ten minutes,” Arin says, glancing at the television screen as he dances alongside them. “Man, those guys are already in the future. We’re watching them in the _past_. It’s so weird that this is a thing.”

“I gotta make a phone call,” Mark says, stepping away and ignoring the knowing glance that Danny and Arin share. He flops down on the couch, suddenly exhausted, uncertain how long they’d been dancing. It’s already next year in Ireland, early in the morning but not so early that Jack won’t answer if he calls.

“Look out!” Matt suddenly shouts from the kitchen, just before the sound of a cork popping bursts through the room. “Shit!”

“What did you break?” Mark yells, sitting up to peer into the kitchen.

“Nothing, nothing,” Matt insists. “It’s just — leaking everywhere.”

“Leaking everywhere, eh?” Danny says with a laugh.

_Focus_ , Mark tells himself, forcing himself to look away from the mess unfolding in the kitchen. He finds Jack’s username on Skype and starts a call.

The ringtone plays for what feels like forever and he hopes Jack will answer before the new year rolls around and it’s too late.

“Champagne!” Matt shouts, passing out flutes of champagne to everyone. “Mark! Champagne!”

He reaches out, gesturing for Matt to bring it to him, and Matt places a glass in his hand before retreating back to the kitchen to get more. When Mark glances back at his phone, Jack’s face has appeared on the screen, looking open and sleepy pressed against a pillow. A huge grin spreads across his face despite himself.

“Hey, baby,” he says, and Jack grins back blearily. He can see Wiishu’s long blond hair on the pillow, and as Jack shifts her sleeping face comes into the shot. “Aw, you guys are so cute.”

“Happy New Year,” Jack replies. “It’s really fuckin’ early.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Mark says. “I wanted you to be here with me when the ball drops.”

“When your balls drop?” Jack repeats, laughing. Mark bursts into laughter, too.

“The ball — the New Year’s Eve ball,” he replies. Jack still laughs, shaking his head — next to him Wiishu snuggles closer to his bare shoulder, her eyes half-open.

“You Americans are weird,” Jack says.

“Happy New Year, Mark,” Wiishu says, sleep clouding her voice. Mark laughs.

“It’s still the old year here for a few more minutes,” he says. She shrugs, her eyes slipping closed again. Jack chuckles, his cheek pressed to her forehead.

“Hey,” Jack says suddenly, pointing to the screen with his free hand. “You got my gift!”

Mark glances down to see the red plaid scarf around his neck. He’d gotten it in the mail a few days after Christmas, but it’s the first time he’s worn it. He grins at Jack.

“Yeah,” he says. “I really like it.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Jack chuckles. “I wasn’t sure what to get you.”

“I love it,” Mark repeats, then clears his throat. “And I just wanted you to be here with me, to ring in the New Year. Since you can’t be my new year’s kiss and all.”

“I’ll kiss you, Mark!” Danny shouts from the living room.

“Me too!” Arin echoes.

“We’re all kissing Mark!” Matt agrees from the kitchen.

“Sounds like you’re getting around,” Jack says from the screen, grinning. Mark laughs and shakes his head — he can feel himself blushing. 

“They’re talking about the _other_ Mark here,” he says reassuringly, to which Jack laughs again.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says, and Mark shrugs, nearly spilling the champagne in his other hand.

“One more minute!” Danny calls. Everyone is starting to gather in front of the TV — Mark settles closer into the couch, relishing the tiny shred of privacy it offers.

“One more minute,” he says to Jack.

“Good,” Jack replies with a yawn. “I’m ready to go back to bed.”

“Nice to know where your priorities are,” Mark teases.

“Whatever! You’re not the one always getting woken up with the sun cuz your boyfriend can’t figure out timezones,” Jack retorts, laughing. Next to him Wiishu laughs along.

“Don’t humor him,” Mark says.

“Well, he’s got a point,” she says, opening one eye to give him knowing look.

“I can never win with you guys,” Mark sighs, shaking his head. Jack’s eyes gleam at him through his grin.

“You’ve already won,” Jack corrects him. “I’m a fucking _prize_ , you know.”

“True, true,” Mark concedes, laughing.

“Ten seconds!” Arin exclaims from where they’ve gathered in front of the TV.

“Nine!” everyone joins in. “Eight!”

“So are you gonna kiss me or what?” Jack teases from the screen.

“Seven! Six!”

“You know it,” Mark replies, sitting up to glance at the television screen.

“Five! Four!”

“Happy New Year, Mark,” Jack says, his voice low and warm.

“Three! Two! One!”

“Happy New Year,” Mark replies, and he brings his phone to his lips to kiss the screen. As he pulls it away, he can see Jack pulling it away from his face as well. As silly as it is, he can feel a pleased blush spreading across his face — especially since no one else noticed how ridiculous he must have looked, too busy kissing partners of their own.

“Hey,” he says softly, meeting Jack’s eyes on the screen. “We’re gonna be together really soon, alright? And then I’m really gonna kiss you, for real.”

Jack smiles, as radiant as the morning sun that illuminates him. “Sounds like a plan,” he agrees. “I’ll see you then.”


	15. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I'm back with a new, extra long chapter for you all :) This time, Mark and Jack prepare to finally meet and work through some conflicted feelings.
> 
> I've been working on this a lot and I can promise that the next chapter will be up fairly soon :) So look forward to that!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. I really appreciate all your support!

The next time they’re scheduled to Skype together, Jang-mi doesn’t even bother to knock at Mark’s door, instead letting herself into the apartment and calling out to him,

“Hey! I’m here!"

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” Mark replies from the kitchen after nearly jumping a foot in the air. “I’m not even wearing pants yet.”

She shrugs as she makes her way toward him, lugging her bass along with her in its case, nearly as big as she is. “Hardly the first time I’ve seen a bandmate without pants,” she says, setting down her things on the couch and glancing at him in the kitchen. He feels suddenly overexposed, wearing just a t-shirt and boxer briefs and holding a half-full mug of coffee.

“Alright, well, you’re here,” he says, sighing. “Let me go get some actual clothes on and get my stuff and then we’ll call Jack.”

“Sounds good,” she replies absently, opening her instrument case.

Jang-mi starts strumming out a tune as he flees the kitchen and retreats to his bedroom. When he comes back, fully dressed and carrying his guitar, she’s humming along to the low notes echoing through the room. He leans against the couch next to her and starts to play along, matching the key and rhythm the best he can. She grins as he does, humming a little louder.

“You’re improving a lot,” she comments. He shrugs.

“I’ve been practicing,” he answers. “Did you get my email?”

“Yeah, I saw it,” she replies, and she sighs. “I still think we should be working on an album or something right now.”

“Sure, but… Our first _live performance_ ,” Mark insists. “Think how awesome that would be.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she concedes, ending her strumming with a decisive note that lingers in the room. “I mean, it would be pretty fun. I’ve never been to the UK.” Then she grins slyly. “God, Mark, you’re not subtle at all.”

“What?” he says with a frown, his fingers still on the guitar strings.

“You only wanna go to this thing to be with Jack,” she says, her tone smug, and he scoffs.

“Not _only_ ,” he replies, and she laughs. “Speaking of which, let’s call him, it’s about the time.”

Jack answers the call almost immediately, waving at them from Mark’s laptop screen.

“Hey guys,” he says. “Happy New Year, Jang-mi.”

She laughs. “Happy New Year, Jack. How have you been?”

“Good, good,” he replies, and he glances over at Mark. “Hey, Mark, have you heard anything from Felix? He sent me an email last night about that gaming convention.”

“I don’t think so,” Mark replies. “What did it say?”

“Here, let me bring it up,” Jack says, peering off-screen. He clears his throat and starts to read aloud.

“ _Hey Jack, I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked but I hope you’re doing well._

_“I was wondering if you’d heard anything about the convention happening here in London in March? I know the people running it and they’re all really cool, they mentioned that they’ve contacted you and some other LPers about being guests. It’s not public yet, but I’m gonna be hosting some panels and stuff there, and I thought it would be really awesome to see you. Maybe we could talk about it sometime soon?_

“And that’s it,” he concludes.

Mark finds himself grinning widely. “Well, sounds like we can’t turn him down now, can we?” he says slyly. Jang-mi rolls her eyes, but Jack nods, a resigned expression on his face.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “I mean, if Felix wants me there, it’s kind of a sign, you know?”

“Sounds like it to me,” Mark says, then adds in a teasing tone, “Don’t sound so serious about it, though, jeez. Should I be worried about you being around Felix?”

Jack blushes visibly on the screen. “What? Don’t be silly,” he protests.

“Not helping your case there, Jack,” Jang-mi chuckles. Her fingers pluck mindlessly at the strings of her bass as she talks. “I mean, no judgment. I think being a little starstruck around Pewdiepie is understandable.”

“I’m not — I’m not _starstruck!_ ” Jack yelps in protest, shaking his head. “I just — really admire Felix as a person, and I value his opinion, a-and — ”

“Babe,” Mark says slowly, holding up a placating hand only to break into a grin. “That pretty much sounds exactly like being starstruck to me.”

Jang-mi breaks into a laugh, but Jack only scowls.

“You guys are always gangin’ up on me,” he complains, folding his arms across his chest with a huff.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mark replies, stifling his giggles with a hand over his mouth. “I don’t mean to keep teasing you. We should be serious.”

“As if you guys are ever serious,” Jang-mi remarks, rolling her eyes. 

“It’s not _me_ ,” Jack protests. “Mark’s the one who can’t put the big boy pants on.”

“In my defense, I rarely ever have _any_ pants on,” Mark says. They both laugh.

“That’s true. Mark was still in his underwear when I got here,” Jang-mi says. A flush raises in Mark’s face and he starts to stammer out a protest, but Jack raises a quizzical eyebrow from the screen, interrupting him.

“Caught in the act, huh?” he accuses with a teasing grin.

“What? What are you trying to say?” Mark sputters, shaking his head. “I was — I was in the comfort of my own home! She didn’t even knock on the door!”

“I’m here so often, I should have, like, honorary door privileges,” she retorts.

“Well, then, you can’t complain about catching me without pants,” he answers. She raises an eyebrow.

“Who says I was complaining?” she teases, and Jack bursts into a laugh.

“This is awful,” Mark sighs, shaking his head. “Jack, I’m sorry we always gang up on you.”

“Can’t swallow your own medicine, huh?” Jack chuckles. Jang-mi stifles a laugh, one hand flying up to cover her mouth, silencing the low notes she’d been strumming.

“Okay, okay, no need to start talking about _swallowing_ here,” she says. Mark rubs his hands along his beard, willing the blush burning along his cheeks to dissipate. “Back to the topic of Felix and this convention thing.”

“Yes, please,” Mark sighs.

“I mean, I’d like to go,” Jack says. “But… I don’t know, I’m not sure about the whole performance thing.”

“It’d be such a great opportunity, though,” Mark protests, extending a pleading arm toward the screen. “We’d be tapping into the fans we already have but still reaching new people. The interest is already there.”

“Either way,” Jang-mi says, “I think we really need to do _something_ , anything, and soon, before the single becomes old news. It doesn’t _have_ to be this — ” Mark starts to interject, but she holds up a silencing finger. “ — _But._ It seems like the best opportunity so far. Do you have any other ideas, Jack?”

“Well,” Jack starts, then leans back in defeat. “Well… Not really. The only other thing we could do, I think, is come out with an EP, but that would take months, maybe a year knowing me and Mark’s schedule.”

“I agree,” Mark says quickly. “We could still be working on an EP, but having stuff going on in the meantime will make sure that there’s still people who would actually be interested in listening to it.”

“And do you think the people running this convention thing will even be okay with setting up a musical performance?” Jang-mi asks. “Have you talked to them about this?”

“Well, no,” Mark admits, glancing away. “But, I mean, we hadn’t even decided for sure if we were going to this thing at all.”

“Fair enough,” Jang-mi says. “Well, I think we should make sure it’s even something that the staff is willing to swing before making any plans, but I think that if the opportunity is there we should take it.”

“What do you think?” Mark asks, meeting Jack’s eyes. His partner’s expression is still hesitant. Since they’d started dating, he thinks he’s started understanding Jack a little better; for all his confidence and bravado, the other man still struggled consider himself truly successful. Mark’s heart aches a little at the thought — _he_ doesn’t think of himself as better than Jack in the slightest, but it seems to him that Jack truly thinks of Mark and so many others as his superior.

When Jack doesn’t reply, Mark urges, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Jack sighs. “I just — I don't know if we’re ready for a live performance,” he admits. “I don’t know if _I_ am. Playing live is so… it’s just really different from what we’ve been doing, you know?”

“We won’t be going in cold turkey,” Jang-mi points out. “We’d make sure to schedule some time beforehand to practice together for real.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees. “We could get there _weeks_ in advance to practice, if that’s what it took.”

“Weeks?” Jang-mi snorts. “Speak for yourself. The whole first week you guys are together you’ll be fucking each other’s brains out. Better factor _that_ into the schedule, too, and I’ll join up with you guys when you get _that_ out of your systems.”

“Thanks for your input, Jang-mi,” Mark says dryly, though he thinks she’s probably right. Jack laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re right,” Jack sighs, then adds quickly, “Mark, I mean. Jang-mi, no comment.”

“Sure,” Jang-mi says, grinning.

“But, I guess that this thing is probably the best opportunity we have right now,” Jack concedes. “And if we make the time to actually work out a set together, I’ll just have to get over myself, I guess.”

“So you don’t think us jamming out would scare your sheep too badly, then?” Mark asks with a grin. Jack lets out a long groan as Jang-mi laughs.

“Okay, first of all,” he snaps, lifting a lecturing finger. “I lived in a _cabin_ , not a farm, and secondly, it’s been literally over a year since I’ve lived there, and, _plus,_ I’ve never owned sheep in my entire life.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Mark laughs.

“Okay, okay,” Jang-mi intercedes before Jack can say anything else. “I thought you guys were trying to be _serious_.”

“It was _Mark_!” Jack howls, laughing. “You can’t pin this on me!”

“Oh, say my name like that again, baby,” Mark murmurs, relishing the blush it immediately brings to Jack’s face. Next to him, Jang-mi wrinkles her nose and shoves his shoulder.

“God, Mark — _please_ wait until I’m gone before doing whatever phone sex thing it is you do. Please,” she says, glaring at him. 

“Kidding, kidding,” Mark says, holding up his hands in defeat. “That’s not even how I like him to say my name anyway.”

“Yeah, he can’t get off unless I call him Daddy,” Jack interjects, his eyes gleaming mischievously. This time Jang-mi make a noise like something between a gag and a laugh, stepping away from Mark who’s giggling wildly despite himself.

“I swear to God, we’re going to have to hire another person just to get anything done anymore,” she groans, shaking her head in defeat. “You two are the _worst_.”

“I’m sorry, Jang-mi, really,” Mark manages to choke out between laughs. “He’s messing with you, I swear.”

“When are you _not_ messing with me?” she sighs.

“Look, I’m being serious,” Mark says, biting down on his bottom lip to stifle his giggles. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’m gonna email these convention people back asking what they think about us performing, and when I hear back from them we’ll regroup. And I’m going to hang up this Skype call and we can have a real jam session like mature adults.”

“Oh, please,” Jack laughs. “You wouldn’t get anything done without me.”

“I can’t get anything done with _either_ of you,” Jang-mi groans. “This is what I get for working with _boys_. I should’ve just stuck to riot girl bands like I did in high school.”

“No, no, listen!” Mark protests. “I really am going to email them, and then we really are gonna work on stuff. Look, I’ll bring up the email now.”

Jang-mi waves her hand dismissively, the grin returning to her face. “Alright, alright, I believe you. Let’s just get to the _music_.” She strikes a resounding note on her bass that falls weakly through the kitchen.

“You know, you’d sound a lot cooler plugged into an amp,” Jack quips. Jang-mi scowls at him.

“Now, now,” Mark says soothingly. “It’s an _acoustic_ jam session. And I don’t want to get a noise complaint from my neighbors.”

“The _music!_ ” Jang-mi repeats with an insistent growl, slamming her hand to the strings once more. Jack only laughs this time.

“Also, I’ve got some new lyrics I want to run by you guys,” Mark says.

“God, I hope it’s not more sappy love songs,” she groans.

“Well…” Mark starts. He meets Jack’s eyes with a grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, Jang-mi.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Mark to hear back from the convention staff. As soon as he sees the email the next day, he calls Jack on Skype, giving no thought to the time difference between them.

It takes a moment for Jack to answer — when he does, he’s sitting at his work desk, bathed in warm artificial light. He smiles at Mark, who realizes he’s been grinning like an idiot the whole time.

“Hey,” Jack says. “I wasn’t expecting a call.”

“They emailed me back!” Mark answers, laughing. “They said they’d _love_ to have us perform. _Love!_ They _said_ that!”

“Wow,” Jack says, looking genuinely surprised before laughing along. “That’s really awesome, Mark.”

“I’m gonna come see you,” Mark continues, feeling as though he can’t get the words out fast enough. “We’ll be together.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, and the smile spreading across his face starts to look genuine. “Yeah, you will.”

“What are you so worried about?” Mark asks, shaking his head. “It’s all gonna be fine. It’s gonna be so good.”

“I know,” Jack says, sheepishly looking away. “I mean… You’re right, I just… I don’t know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I just worry that if we do this, people will… _talk_ , more than they already do.”

Mark frowns. “Let them talk,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just talk, Jack, you know that.”

“I know,” Jack admits, but he still looks hesitant.

“What’s really wrong?” Mark presses, unconvinced.

“I’m just nervous about it like I told you guys,” Jack says. “It feels like a really big deal to me, you know?”

“It’s a big deal,” Mark agrees. “But it’s a _good_ big deal. You don’t need to feel nervous. We’ll be _together_.”

Jack opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then seems to decide against it, simply nodding in agreement. “Yeah,” he says faintly. “Being together will be nice.”

Mark frowns. Wherever Jack’s trepidation is coming from, he doesn’t get it — it all seems like fantastic news to him. So he tries to convince him the best way he knows how: he leans in closer to his microphone and lets his voice rumble through his chest.

“You don’t have to worry, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take such good care of you.”

Jack blushes and grins. “That’s — That’s good to hear,” he stammers. Mark grins back.

“Want me to tell you all the things I’m gonna do to you once we’re together?” he asks.

“I, uh, I think I already have a pretty good idea,” Jack chuckles, shaking his head.

“So I guess I should buy a plane ticket, then,” Mark continues — already his mind is racing, thinking of how soon he’ll be leaving, how long he’ll be gone, many videos he’ll have to film to keep the channel going —

“Already?” Jack asks, an alarmed tone to his voice. Mark glances back at him questioningly. “I — I mean — have you even emailed them back yet?”

Mark’s brows furrow. “No, but… I already know I want to go. I already know I want to be with you, so we might as well work out the schedule now,” he explains, but Jack doesn’t look any less uncertain. Something twists in Mark’s gut, and he looks away, his eyes searching for something, anything, to get the other man’s panicked expression out of his vision. What was going on?

“This is just happening really… really fast,” Jack stammers from the screen.

“Jack, come on,” he snaps, his face flushing with sudden anger. “I already said I want to do this, okay?” But then he stops, his anger fizzling out as quickly as it came. “Look, if… If you don't want me to visit, just tell me, okay? Just tell me and I won’t.”

“That's not it,” Jack interjects quickly. “Mark, that's not it at all, I swear.” His gaze is suddenly intense, but Mark doesn't know if he believes him. “I just… Fuck, I don't know what to say. I'm just feeling anxious about it all, I don't know why. But I want you to visit, Mark, of course I do.”

Mark sighs. As much as he likes to think he understands Jack better now than he did before, it still feels as though he's always guessing what's going on with the other man - and half the time, he's wrong.  

“Alright,” he says, unsure of what else to say. 

“I'm sorry,” Jack mumbles. 

“It's fine,” Mark replies automatically, then takes in a long breath. “It's... It's fine. I'll wait on the ticket, alright? I'll email them back and see what they say, and you tell me when you want me to get the plane ticket and stuff.”

Jack’s expression has turned decidedly miserable — but what else was he supposed to do? 

“No, it's better for you to get the ticket sooner,” he protests faintly. “It's cheaper that way.”

Mark scoffs. “Money's not an issue. I'll wait if that's what makes you feel better.”

“I don’t know!” Jack exclaims, startling Mark into looking back at the screen. “I don’t know what will make me feel better, Mark. I’m going to be anxious about it all the same. I’m sorry.” Jack covers his face with his hands, his pale fingers rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeats weakly. “Please, just… just do what you think is best.”

“Jack,” Mark says, every bit of anger gone from him. “Jack, I… Don’t apologize, okay? You don’t have to apologize to me. I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” Jack replies. “I… I want _you_ to be happy, Mark, so please just buy the plane ticket for whenever you want to come. I’ll get over whatever this shit is — “ He gestures widely around himself, his expression darkening. “ — because I really, really do want to see you.”

“Okay,” Mark replies, his voice as gentle as he can manage. “I’ll look into flights for a week or two before the convention and let you know what I find, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack replies. He meets Mark’s gaze on the screen with visible trepidation. “I really am sorry. I… I don’t want you to be mad at me, or…”

“Jack,” Mark interrupts, shaking his head. “Don’t. I’m not upset, I’m really not. I just…” He sighs. “I just wish I knew how to understand you better.”

“Me too,” Jack agrees faintly, looking away. “Me too.”

Mark watches him as he glances down off-screen and runs a hand through his hair. That was what it all boiled down to, he thinks; as readily as he recognizes each of Jack’s habits, his idiosyncrasies and emotional tics, he can never really be in the other man’s head. No physical distance would change that.

* * *

 They don’t Skype for much longer, and once Jack finally ends the call, he leans back in his chair and sighs. Suddenly he feels exhausted, his limbs sluggish and heavy.

Mark is his boyfriend. He should feel excited at the prospect of finally being together, but the thought of it leaves his stomach unsettled. It doesn’t make sense, he thinks bitterly — why can’t he just be happy? And he knows Mark could tell, could feel his trepidation; he can imagine how hurtful his lack of excitement must have been to Mark, and it only makes him feel worse.

He does the only thing he can think of: he pulls out his phone and messages Wiishu despite the late hour. “You there? I feel like shite :( “

Jack sets his phone down on the desk and swivels his chair around slowly, his eyes trailing around the room. He lingers on his drum kit in the corner. The sight of it makes his heart beat faster.

His phone buzzes on his desk and he looks away. “Aw, babe. What’s wrong?” her message reads.

“I don’t know,” he types out slowly. “Mark was talking about coming to see me and I got really nervous about it and I think it hurt his feelings.”

“Why so nervous?” she responds quickly.

“I don’t know why, and that makes it worse,” he types. He sends it, then adds, “I guess it’s easier to be long distance. Being together makes things too real.”

“But it already is real,” she replies.

He lingers over that for a moment. She’s right; their togetherness is already real, regardless of the physical space between them. But when Mark is on another continent, it’s easy to think of their relationship as a pleasant daydream — being together would cement their relationship to reality in a way it hadn’t been before, in a way it wasn’t now. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, he tells himself, but the thought doesn’t do much to quell the anxiety simmering in his belly.

“You’re right,” he messages her back. “I guess I’m nervous about performing live too and it’s bleeding over into that.”

“Now that I understand,” she responds, with an emoji of a winking face with its tongue out. “No one would blame you for that. But you shouldn’t let it get in the way of your happiness with Mark.” Then she sends him a string of rainbow heart emojis, and he chuckles.

“Thanks,” he replies. “You always make me feel better.”

She sends him a kissy emoji in response, and he glances back over at his drum kit. It reminds him of the first text Mark had sent him about starting a band; without the text, without the band, without his drum kit, he doesn’t know what he and Mark would be to each other. But somehow they’d found each other, and soon they’d be together. He smiles in spite of himself.

He brings Skype back up and starts typing out a message — Mark is still online. “Hey,” he writes. “Sorry I didn’t seem happy when we were talking about you coming to visit me. I really am excited to see you! I’m just nervous about performing and I let it get to me. And I guess I’m nervous about how being together might change the way things are with us. But that change will probably be for the better and I shouldn’t be nervous. Sorry if I hurt your feelings or anything. I really do want you here with me.”

He hesitates, then sends it.

After a moment, Mark responds, “You’re so sweet :) you don’t have to worry about me.” Jack grins at the smiley face on the screen despite himself, and another message appears. “Thanks for telling me how you felt. I was a little worried about you. It’s ok that you’re nervous but I’m glad you’re excited to see me. I know I’m really excited to be with you.”

“You’ll hate it here, trust me, all it does is rain,” he replies.

“More romantic when I kiss you, then,” Mark responds. Jack looks away with a blush, a smile twitching across his face. Kissing in the rain would be decently romantic, but kissing Mark at all seems like a dream.

“Gotta get back to work. We’ll talk more about it later,” another message comes, bringing Jack to reality again.

“Sounds good,” he replies, and he swivels his chair again to look back over at his drum kit. He gets up and stands over it, suddenly overcome with the desire to play. Somehow, he thinks, smashing out a beat would simplify everything and soothe his nerves. 

But it’s late, and his neighbors certainly wouldn’t appreciate the noise. Instead he trails his fingers along the smooth wooden sticks, runs them gingerly down the cymbal, and sets them back on the seat again. The metallic note lingers in the air for a long time, even as he turns off the light and leaves the room.

* * *

If there is anything Mark knows he’s good at, it’s throwing himself into his work, so he does. Though he decides to take his time buying the plane ticket, he knows he wants to be with Jack for at least a week, maybe two, before the convention happens. The con is a long weekend, and he thinks maybe he’d like to stick around in Ireland for a little while afterward — so he decides to make enough videos to last the channel for a full month.

It’s ambitious, but doable, and he’s got nearly two months to do it, so he writes out a schedule, dips into his list of ideas, and gets to work. The first few days are miserable, leaving his apartment to film before the sun is up and not getting back until it’s dark again only to repeat the cycle hours later — but the routine of it soon becomes soothing, and when he’s busy he can’t dwell on the perplexing conversation with Jack that had launched him into a work frenzy in the first place. 

Danny and Arin peek in on him every once in a while, but he ignores the increasing concern in their eyes. Arin agrees to play some Super Mario Maker with him, too, which he knows will be popular. In the back of his head he keeps thinking he should ask Jack if he’d want to film a few videos together when he joins him in Ireland, but the subject still feels too sore to bring up.

On the fifth day, he arrives back at home exhausted, only to realize he’d never once messaged Jack when he checks the time on his phone to find the other man had texted him over the course of the day.

_10:04am - Jack <3 : Good morning handsome :)_

_1:48pm - Jack <3 : Haven’t heard from you yet, hows your day been?_

_5:12pm - Jack <3 : Everything ok? Msg me back when you can_

A pang of guilt shoots through him as he types out a quick response, dropping his messenger bag on the sofa. “Hey! Sorry!! Been really busy today!”

Jack responds almost instantly. “I was getting worried about you! Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good. Just been doing a lot of filming is all,” Mark replies as he digs through his refrigerator — he’s going to have to go grocery shopping soon, much to his chagrin. “Starting to stockpile videos for when I'm away, you know?”

“I know how that is," Jack answers. A moment later, he sends another message: “I missed you.”

Mark smiles faintly when he reads the message. “Sorry I didn’t reply sooner.”

“Are you gonna be this busy until you come visit??” Jack asks — Mark lingers over the question for the moment while he throws some leftovers into the microwave.

“Yeah, probably,” he finally replies. “Why?”

“Just means you’ll have to come visit me sooner,” Jack responds, and it makes Mark laugh aloud this time.

“Yeah?” he types back. “I can manage that.”

“I really missed you today,” the messages continue. “It made me think I want you here sooner rather than later.”

“Fuck it, I’m getting on the next flight out,” he responds, shaking his head as he chuckles.

“Aw, my apartment looks like shit,” Jack replies. “You gotta give me some time to clean up.”

“How does two weeks before the con sound?” Mark answers. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

Jack takes a moment to respond, but it doesn’t lessen the grin on Mark’s face. He’s already pulled out his laptop and started looking up flights.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack finally replies. “I can’t wait to see you.”


	16. sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! With this chapter, I'm bumping the rating up to E, since, well. Yeah. There's porn. In the interest of full disclosure, this is honestly the first time I've written any actual explicit smut, so forgive me if anything seems a little stilted or rushed or awkward. If you follow me on tumblr, you know I made more than a few posts about my struggles trying to get this chapter right. I'm definitely open to feedback on this one, haha. Especially since most chapters after this will probably include some smut as well :P
> 
> Anyway, I don't want to give away too much on this one, so I'll leave off there ;) As always thank you so much for all your support, kudos, and comments. I really appreciate every little bit of feedback you guys have for me. Enjoy! <3

Despite his careful planning and scheduling, the day of his departure still sneaks up on Mark faster than he’d anticipated. Just like he’d planned, he has plenty of videos prepped complete with scheduled tweets and some posts in his Tumblr queue, but that’s about as far as he’s prepared for the trip — the day before his flight he still hasn’t packed anything except for his guitar.

“How’s the weather been?” he texts Jack after staring uncertainly into his closet for a solid five minutes.

“Fine for here, so cold and miserable for you,” Jack replies. “Pack for rain and bring a pair of good walking shoes if you have some.”

“Walking??” he messages back.

“You’ll find out,” is his ominous response.

Jack’s answer is decidedly unhelpful and makes Mark wonder what he should wear on the flight, knowing it would be what he wears when they finally meet. All he can remember is that Jack seems to like him in flannel — though he’s not even sure if that opinion is actually Jack’s or just the collective opinion of the internet as a whole. He decides on all of two outfits before calling Jang-mi.

“What are you packing to wear onstage?” he asks as soon as she answers the phone.

“Clothes?” she offers unhelpfully, and he groans. “Seriously, just my usual clothes. Why? Do you want to have matching outfits or something?”

“What? No, I have _no_ delusions of us being the Partridge Family, trust me. I just…” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Honestly, Mark, just wear whatever you’re comfortable in,” she replies sagely. “You’re the one who’ll be running the show, there’s no dress code someone’s gonna be enforcing.”

“Thanks,” he says, though it doesn’t really help him decide. “Hey, while I have you on the phone, I wanted to ask — how much of your equipment are you bringing?”

“Basically everything,” she says. “I don’t know how much stuff Jack will have or how compatible it’ll be with our things, so better to be safe than sorry.”

“If I pay for all the equipment to be sent over, will you take my guitar and stuff with you too?” Mark asks. “We won’t need it until you join us.”

Jang-mi snorts with laughter, which Mark ignores. “Sure you won’t,” she agrees. “Yeah, okay, I can do that. Want me to come by and pick it up?”

“I can drop it off on my way to the airport,” he says. “I fly out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” she says. “Makes my life easier.”

He sighs, still peering into his closet. For a moment they are both silent.

“How are you feeling?” Jang-mi asks him, and he laughs dryly.

“I guess I’m nervous,” he replies, shaking his head. Nervous isn’t quite the right word, but he doesn’t know how else to describe the urgent ache in his chest when he thinks of finally being with Jack. “It’s a lot happening all at once. But I’m excited.”

“It’s gonna be great,” she agrees.

Mark reaches in and pulls the scarf Jack sent him for Christmas off the hook where he’d hung it with his other scarves and belts. The red flannel is soft and comforting between his fingers — he holds it for a moment before placing it in his suitcase

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think it will.”

* * *

 

The morning Mark is set to arrive in Ireland, Jack spends the better part of an hour staring at himself in the bathroom mirror.

At first he’d just wanted to tidy up his beard and body hair after a very thorough shower, but then he ends up peering at his blue eyes, thinking of the song Mark had written for him, thinking of Mark. He sets down his razor and flexes his arms in the mirror — he’s certainly not flabby, but the faint bulge of his biceps is a pale imitation of how toned he used to be. It feels like forever ago, but still he wishes he’d been a little more vigilant about working out even after college.

Then he lets the towel fall from where it’s wrapped around his hips and takes a step back, examining his body in the mirror. His skin is a milky white all over; not that it could be helped, as he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen the sun, much less had an opportunity to bask in it. But he doesn’t remember being this _scrawny —_ especially as he thought of Mark, whose build was so strong and athletic despite his claims that he didn’t work out, either. Everything about Jack is pathetically _average_ — his build, his dick, his looks — in stark contrast to Mark who was so effortlessly handsome.

An irrational thought overtakes him suddenly — that Mark’s going to take one look at him, skinny and naked and vulnerable, and _laugh_ , laugh so hard he can’t stand, and leave Jack right then, wondering what the hell ever possessed him that he’d even entertain the thought. Or, worse, Jack’s unimpressive frame would convince Mark that he was totally heterosexual after all, that Mark would have none of the interest or desire for him that he had for Mark.

“Stop it,” he says to himself in the mirror, trying to sound stern despite the tremble in his voice. “None of that would happen. Mark wouldn’t go through the trouble of being here if he didn’t want to be with me.”

_Maybe, maybe not_ , he thinks, but he shakes his head to dispel the thought. Their relationship is real, and Mark had never given him reason to doubt the authenticity of his feelings. Hell, if his feelings were really so fleeting, he would’ve given up on Jack a long time ago. His hangups are his own; it’s unfair to project them onto Mark.

Mark, who would finally be here with him in just a matter of hours. A flush rises in his face just thinking of it.

He finally leaves the mirror, walking to his room and again looking over the clothes he’d laid out before his shower. He’d second-guessed his whole outfit, but as he pulls on his underwear he’s certain those, at least, are the best choice. The lime green briefs with white trim are his favorite pair; they cling flatteringly to his ass, and leave little to the imagination in the front.

It’s supposed to rain, so he pulls his raincoat over his warm knit sweater when he’s finished dressing. He fumbles over his rain boots, but once they’re on he still has time before the Uber arrives to take him to the airport.

Despite knowing Mark hasn’t landed yet, he checks his phone anyway. It won’t matter soon, he thinks with excitement starting to bubble in his stomach, Mark won’t have to text him when he’s _here,_ with him, in his apartment.

* * *

 

It takes him a few tries to find the right terminal, but Jack arrives at the airport mostly without incident, anticipation soon overtaking every uncertain feeling he’d had earlier. He joins the small crowd waiting at the arrival gate with his hood still up, pulling his forest green scarf closer to his mouth self-consciously. While the Uber driver hadn’t seemed to recognize him, someone in the crowd still might.

But then people start walking through the gate, and Jack’s heart quickens with excitement. He starts to lift his hand in a wave each time he spots someone with short dark hair or sporting a red flannel, but none of them are Mark. After at least fifty people have gone by, he checks his phone again anxiously, wondering if he’d somehow managed to end up in the wrong place or been there at the wrong time. When Jack glances back up, he sees him — Mark is striding down the long hallway, his eyes scanning the crowd. Jack breaks into a wide grin and waves.

Their eyes meet. Mark’s mouth twitches at the corners and he quickens his pace, but the expression on his face is not so much a smile as it is sheer _need_ , the desperation of a dying man mere steps away from shelter. He drops the bag he'd been carrying as the distance between them closes, Jack’s eyes widening in startled surprise. 

Then Mark’s hands are on him, one pressing into the small of his back to pull him close, the other cupping Jack’s face, and Mark is kissing him, rough and needy. Jack’s hands are clutching at Mark’s hair and his eyes slip closed, his mouth moving automatically with his partner’s fervent assault, instinctually matching his intensity.

When they finally part, his lips feeling bruised and swollen, Mark’s eyes remain shut as he presses his forehead against Jack’s. The hand on his back is still holding him close.

“Jack,” Mark says reverently, barely above a whisper. “ _Jack_.”

Jack closes his eyes again, basking for a moment in the transcendence of it all. Mark is here, with him, breathing in the same air. He doesn’t want to pull away, but already he’s certain he can feel the heat of people watching them, looking, wondering if they recognize —

“Mark,” he murmurs, leaning his cheek closer into Mark’s hand. “Not that this isn’t great, but we’re in public, people could have cameras, or…”

“Right,” Mark agrees. He takes in a deep breath, then steps away from Jack, his hands falling away and leaving him feeling suddenly cold. Mark picks up the bag he’d dropped, then grins over at Jack, his face flushed. “Let’s find the baggage claim,” he says, his voice rough.

It takes everything in him for Jack not to reach out and hold Mark’s free hand as they wait for the rest of Mark’s luggage — instead he grabs the rolling suitcase quickly as soon as Mark gestures for it, setting it on its wheels, his roaming hand placed firmly on the handles.

“This is it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mark says. He breaks into a grin every time their eyes meet. “I tried to pack light. But, you know, I didn’t even think to ask if you’ve got laundry machines in Ireland, so…”

“Asshole,” Jack retorts with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course we’ve got laundry machines.”

“I don’t know, you could be washing your clothes in a river,” Mark protests. Jack only rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing. “I got us an Uber back to my place.”

“You have Uber here?” Mark asks, sounding genuinely surprised this time. Jack scoffs.

“It’s _Ireland_ , not the stone ages!” he snaps. Mark laughs, and starts to reach for his hand, then pulls away quickly, his gaze turning suddenly self-conscious. Jack hesitates, then reaches over to rub his shoulder. It’s a decidedly friendly gesture, but better than nothing. 

The car is still waiting where he’d left it earlier. They load Mark’s things into the trunk, then settle into the backseat. The veil of privacy it offers as the driver pulls away from the airport makes Jack suddenly bold, and he takes hold of Mark’s hand. Mark beams at him, squeezing his hand back. Their joined fingers settle into the space between them, and the long drive goes by far quicker than Jack remembers it being as he watches Mark stare out the window, taking in the foreign landscape that rolls by.

When they arrive, Mark unloads his bags while Jack tips the driver — _very_ generously, just in case the man recognized them after all — then he walks on ahead toward the apartment building. He doesn’t think anyone’s around to see them, but he’d sooner be in his own home all the same.

“Here we are,” Jack says, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door of his apartment. He holds it open to let Mark and his luggage through, then follows him in quickly, locking the door behind him.

When he turns back around to face his boyfriend, the sight of Mark in his apartment makes his breath hitch, and he breaks into a smile. Mark smiles back at him hesitantly.

“What?” he asks, stepping toward Jack.

“I like how you look in my apartment,” Jack replies, and Mark takes another step toward him, reaching out to grasp his hips, pulling him closer. “You belong here, with me.”

“Here with you,” Mark agrees in a low growl, and closes the space between them. When they kiss, this time it’s gentle and slow, Mark’s mouth soft and tender in stark contrast to the rough desperation he had kissed him with in the airport. Jack’s hands find their way up Mark’s chest, along his shoulders and finally resting on the back of his neck. He can feel the other man’s pulse fluttering against his thumb — the feel of it sends desire jolting through his body. He presses his hips flush against Mark’s, drawing a soft noise of contentment from the other man. They kiss lazily for a long moment, one of Mark’s hands keeping a gentle grip on Jack’s hips while the other slides down to cup his ass and press their bodies more firmly together. Even through their layers of clothing he can feel the other man’s arousal against his own.

“Mark,” he says, breaking the kiss. Mark presses his forehead against Jack’s, his eyes still closed. “Do you… Do you want to go up to my room?”

Mark makes a faint, noncommittal noise — then he lets out a faint chuckle, his dark eyes slipping open and crinkling warmly as he smiles.

“I’m really sorry, Jack,” he murmurs. “Would it be okay if I took a shower first? I’ve been in an airplane for hours and I just feel all grimy, you know?”

“Y-Yeah,” Jack stammers. Of _course_ Mark would want to take a shower, the man was probably exhausted after such a long flight, and here he was trying to get him into bed like some randy teenager. He turns his face away, his cheeks starting to burn with embarrassment. Mark’s grip on his waist loosens and he steps away. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. The bathroom’s down the hall this way.”

He grabs one of Mark’s bags and leads him out of the entryway and into the living room. “You can just use my soap and stuff, if you don’t want to go searching for it in all your stuff,” he continues, glancing back at the other man. “Only if you want to, I mean. It’s up to you.” He knows he’s starting to babble and he can still feel the blush on his face, but Mark only grins at him, putting his bag down on the couch.

“That sounds nice, actually,” he agrees.

Jack leads him to the bathroom and lets him in.

“You just turn the handle to turn the shower on,” he says, gesturing toward the tub. “I’m not sure if it’s different in America.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Mark says, still smiling at him. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack replies, glancing away, still flustered.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror and remembers standing there that morning after his shower, getting dressed and giving himself a pep talk and imagining Mark being there with him in his apartment.

_Well, he’s here now,_ he thinks, _so what are you gonna do about it?_ When he glances back at Mark, the other man has already begun to undress. His flannel shirt is unbuttoned and his jeans are off, maroon boxer briefs clinging to his ass and perfectly revealing the outline of his erection.

“Fuck,” Jack hears himself say, and Mark glances at him, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Like what you see?” he asks, slipping out of his shirt.

He can’t think of anything he’s ever liked more. Jack takes a steadying breath, willing himself to sound more confident than he actually feels, and asks, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Mark clearly wasn’t expecting the question — for a moment his mouth hangs open just slightly in a surprised _oh_ , then he breaks into a shy grin, a faint blush spreading across his face. He clears his throat before answering.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down at his clothes in a pile on the floor. “I mean — no, I don’t mind.”

Shower sex had definitely not been on his mental list of things to do with Mark today, but — well, there they are, and he can’t take back his words now. So he starts undressing quickly, his own clothes joining Mark’s, until they’re both standing in their underwear.

Jack glances down at himself, at the lime green briefs he’d felt so confident in earlier in the morning; his cock, far more eager than he feels, is straining against the fabric. When he glances back over at Mark, the other man’s eyes are locked onto his vivid green underwear.

Jack slips his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, hesitates, and then pulls his hands away, instead covering his face that’s grown hot with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, his voice muffled against his hands. “I swear I’m not usually this — this weird about stuff, really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Mark chuckles, the gentle laugh easing Jack’s worries enough to pull his fingers away from his face to instead run anxiously through his hair. When he looks, Mark’s blushing, too, glancing down at his feet with his bottom lip between his teeth

“It’s alright,” he says. “Really, it’s fine. I’m, um, a little nervous too.” He clears his throat and meets Jack’s gaze. “Here, this is what we’ll do. I’ll get in, and then you join me whenever you’re ready, okay?”

“Alright,” Jack agrees.

With that, Mark sets his glasses on the sink, steps into the tub, and pulls the shower curtain closed after him. A moment later, his maroon boxer briefs come sailing over the curtain, falling in a graceful arc to the floor with the rest of their clothes, and the water turns on.

Jack looks at himself in the mirror again. _It’s Mark_ , he tells himself, _your boyfriend, who clearly wants this just as much as you do._ His nervousness is silly.

He pulls his underwear off in one decisive motion. Despite it being their first meeting, they’d been together for _months_ — he knows Mark, knows the other man is gentle and kind and cares about him, knows that he’s projecting his own stupid insecurities onto him. But he gives his cock a few encouraging strokes anyway, feeling impossibly small compared to Mark.

From the shower he hears Mark make a faint, tired noise, almost a moan, over the noise of the water running. The sound of him fills Jack with desire enough to make up for his lack of confidence, and he pulls open the shower curtain and steps inside.

Mark is behind him as he pulls the curtain back closed, and when he turns around to face him their eyes meet. Jack keeps his eyes locked on Mark’s warm gaze for as long as he can, and after a moment Mark is the first one to look away. His eyes travel slowly down the length of Jack’s body, his expression quickly becoming hungry and needy. He takes a small step closer and reaches out, his fingertips landing gingerly on Jack’s forearm.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Mark murmurs, and Jack lets himself finally look away from Mark’s face. Though they’re nearly the same height, Mark is more muscular, more broad in the chest and shoulders and all around. 

Jack gives a self-deprecating shake of his head. “I should work out more,” he says. Mark’s hands travel up his arms, around his shoulders, down his back.

“You’re perfect,” Mark says, pulling him closer. “God, I want you so bad. I want you so fucking bad.”

Mark’s hands are all over him, leaving his skin tingling with pleasure in their wake. He finds himself gripping desperately onto Mark’s arms to keep himself steady, reveling in the feel of his biceps tensing and shifting under his fingers.

Then suddenly Mark’s pushing him back, getting on his knees — “Oh, _fuck,_ ” Jack whimpers as he realizes, Mark’s hand tightening around the base of his cock.

“So, I’ve never done this before,” Mark murmurs, fingers trailing down Jack’s thighs, his voice a low rumble that Jack can _feel_ all through his abdomen. “I know what feels good, but you gotta help me out, okay?”

“It’s — it’s hard to mess this up,” he manages to reply, one hand running through Mark’s damp hair, the other braced against the shower wall.

Mark grins at him wickedly, then takes his cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls along the tip, curious and exploring, taking in more of him as his eyes hold Jack’s gaze. Jack bites his lip, desperate to stifle the sounds escaping him, unable to look away. Just the sight of Mark with his dick in his mouth is nearly enough to make him come, but the warmth and the suction and the sheer intensity of Mark’s dark eyes watching him moan and squirm sends him right up to the edge all too quickly.

“W-Wait,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Slow down, I’m — I’m gonna — ”

Mark pulls away, but his mouth is quickly replaced by his hand, now stroking deliberately from base to tip. The roughness of his hand, a sudden contrast to the warm slickness of his mouth, makes Jack gasp, his head tipping back. He breathes as slowly and deliberately as he can manage, but his breath hitches every time Mark’s fingers graze the head of his cock.

“Look at you,” Mark murmurs. Jack can feel the heat of his gaze travel along his body again. “God, I can’t get over how attractive you are. I could do this forever. I just wanna make you feel good, wanna make you come…”

Jack manages a coy grin, spurred on by the heat pooling at the bottom of his belly.

“Yeah?” he says, meeting Mark’s gaze again. “Gonna make me come?” His hand tightens in Mark’s hair and pulls him roughly back to his cock. Mark obliges willingly — Jack pulls at his hair again, and the noise of half-pain and half-pleasure it elicits vibrates through his cock, making him see stars. The other man is more confident now, more eager, sucking down half his length this time, his tongue still teasing the sweet spot at the tip. 

Still gripping his hair tightly, Jack thrusts into Mark’s mouth as gently as he can manage. The primal part of him wants to fuck Mark’s mouth viciously, to make him gag and choke on his length — but he can’t be too rough, he tells himself over and over, or Mark’s never going to want to give him a blowjob again and _that_ would be a tragedy. Mark moans again around his cock, and Jack releases his hair to squeeze tightly at the base of his dick — he’s so close, he’s so fucking close, but he can’t come yet, he wants so much _more_ — 

Mark moves to push his hand away, a look of steely determination in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna come yet,” Jack protests weakly; his hips are still pushing his cock in and out of Mark’s mouth, though he doesn’t mean to move. “Fuck, Mark, _please_ …” 

But Mark’s hand is insistent against his own, pulling his fingers back into his dark hair. He grips Mark’s hair in desperation, willing himself to hold back for as long as he can — but then Mark’s teeth graze the tiniest bit against the underside of his cock, and he’s gone.

“Oh, fuck, Mark — _Mark —_!” he gasps. Mark’s mouth is hot and wet around him and his tongue teases out everything Jack has, his hand stroking in time with each twitch of his cock as the orgasm tears through him.

Jack gasps for breath as his hand falls weakly from Mark’s head, releasing the iron grip he’d had on his hair. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Mark gingerly pulls his hand away from Jack’s cock and, with visible effort, releases it from his mouth and swallows, wiping his face with one hand.

“Oh my god,” Mark murmurs, grinning. “I feel so bad for everyone I ever told to swallow.”

Jack manages a faint laugh, but he’s still panting, his head leaning back to rest on the shower wall, his eyes slipping closed. Instinctively he closes his hands around his dick, holding it gingerly as if it were a wound. He hears Mark stand shakily and rinse his mouth — he’d all but forgotten that the shower was still running.

Then the warm water hits him, and Mark’s body presses against his own. One of his arms wrap tightly around Jack’s waist, supporting his trembling frame, and he can feel the other braced against the wall, holding them both steady.

“Was it good?” Mark asks, his voice a low rumble in Jack’s ear.

“Yeah,” he manages, nodding weakly. “Yeah, it was really good.”

“Good,” Mark says, kissing along the exposed skin of Jack’s neck. “Watching you come was so hot, Jack. I want you so bad…”

As his breathing slows into a semblance of normalcy, Jack opens his eyes and wraps one arm around Mark’s waist.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he murmurs against the wet skin of Mark’s shoulder, and with his other hand he finds Mark’s cock, desperately hard and pressed against his thigh.

“Shit,” Mark hisses as he strokes him slowly. “I’m already so — fuck, Jack, yeah, right there, you feel so _good_.”

They’re of a similar length but Mark’s cock feels decidedly thicker than his own, and his hands feel clumsy and weak in the afterglow of his orgasm, but Mark still moans and gasps wordlessly into his shoulder, his fingernails digging into the skin of Jack’s hip. He squeezes tightly around the tip with each stroke, moving faster until Mark’s cries reach a fever pitch.

“You sound so good,” he murmurs against his ear, making the other man shudder against him. “I wanna hear you when you come.”

“I’m gonna come,” Mark answers, his breath ragged, his fingers digging all the more roughly into Jack’s skin. “I’m — I’m coming, fuck — _Jack_ , oh, oh _fuck —_ ”

His cock pulses in Jack’s hand and come spills, hot and sticky, onto his hip and into his hand. He keeps stroking him through it until Mark’s hand finds his own, stilling his movement with a tight, trembling squeeze.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice raw. “Shit.”

“I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re fucked speechless,” Jack says, and Mark starts to laugh. He pulls away enough to look into Jack’s eyes, grinning fondly.

“That was,” he says slowly, “really good.”

“I’m glad,” Jack murmurs, then chuckles. “I’ve got to admit, I was a little worried at first. Shower sex can be pretty hit or miss.”

“Definitely not a miss,” Mark replies, leaning his forehead against Jack’s and catching his breath. “I can’t say I feel much cleaner, though.”

“Here,” Jack says, pulling away and reaching for a bar of soap. “I got you.”

Mark hums in contentment and leans into his touch as Jack starts scrubbing him clean. His skin is smooth and warm against Jack’s soap-slicked hands, making his cock twitch in interest.

“I don’t believe that you _don’t_ work out,” he says as his hands run along the well-defined muscles of Mark’s back. Mark shrugs, the muscles shifting under Jack’s fingers.

“What can I say?” he replies. “I’m blessed.”

“God, I want you again already,” Jack murmurs, gripping Mark’s hips. The other man moves to start rinsing off and glances back at him, eyes gleaming.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” he says, “But I could really use a nap.”


	17. seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! This chapter is mostly porn, but I swear that more plot will be happening soon ;) again, I'd welcome any feedback on this chapter, but I think I'm starting to figure this whole smut thing out, haha.
> 
> As an aside, I'm thinking of uploading the playlist(s) I use when writing this fic to 8tracks or something for your listening enjoyment. I figure since this fic has music as a focal point it might be cool to have a playlist to go with it. Let me know if that's something you'd all be interested in seeing and I'll see what I can do :)
> 
> And as always thanks so much for reading, and especially for your kudos and comments! <3

Mark passes out almost instantly after they lay down in Jack’s bed — Jack remains wide awake, but laying next to Mark, one arm draped loosely over his boyfriend’s waist, is bliss. He trails his fingers lightly across Mark’s am, following the curves of the muscle up to his shoulders, down his neck and the ridges of his spine, clasping protectively over the protrusion of his hipbone. Mark’s breathing is deep and even as he sleeps.

Part of him can’t get over that Mark is _here_ , with him, in his apartment, in his bed. But Mark is warm and solid and real in his arms, his dark hair strewn messily across Jack’s pillow, still damp after their shower. Finally, _finally,_ they’re together — it makes his heart beat faster, but he forces himself to breathe slowly in time with his partner. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been laying there while Mark sleeps when his stomach starts to growl. Much as Jack is loathe to leave his side, they both need to eat; he has no idea how long it’s been since the other man last ate, although considering it must have been airplane food, he’s sure a decent meal would be welcome. So he slowly, carefully, releases his partner from his arms and gets out of bed. Mark mumbles something wordless in his sleep, rolling onto his back in the absence of Jack’s supporting frame. Jack smiles fondly down at him and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, making sure to close the door behind him as gently as he can.

But his skin is still buzzing with their newfound physicality, too distracting for him to focus on anything complicated, so he sets some water on the stove for pasta and dumps a jar of cream sauce into a saucepan. He stands absently as he waits for the water to boil, his arms crossed over his chest, rubbing his fingers along the soft cloth of his shirt. 

The image of Mark in the shower with him is imprinted onto his vision. By the time he tosses the pasta into the boiling water, he’s achingly hard and sorely tempted to go back to bed with Mark — but it’ll be just a few minutes until the food is ready, he tells himself, and to wake Mark now would be selfish. 

When the pasta’s done, he empties some bagged salad into a bowl for good measure, sets both serving bowls on the kitchen table, and goes back to his room for Mark. The other man is still asleep in the same position Jack had left him in.

“Mark,” Jack says just above a whisper. He doesn’t stir, so Jack leans down over him and rubs his shoulder. “Mark.”

Slowly his dark eyes flutter open, glancing around the room in confusion until he meets Jack’s gaze. Then he breaks into the widest smile Jack’s ever seen, palpable joy radiating from his face — Jack can’t help but smile back at him, his heart starting to pound. 

“Hey,” he continues, but Mark reaches out for him with both arms, his hands finding Jack’s shoulders and pulling him close. Mark’s mouth is still sleepy and pliant when they kiss, but his tongue grazing gently against Jack’s lips sends fire shooting through every nerve in his body. He kisses Mark harder, but when the other man’s legs wrap around his hips he remembers why he’d come back in the first place and pulls away quickly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says as Mark makes a soft, disappointed noise. “I, um, I made dinner. I figured you were probably hungry…”

Mark laughs, and his body relaxes underneath him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his thumbs rubbing absentmindedly along Jack’s shoulder. “Food sounds great.”

Jack takes in a long, measured breath. Food first, he tells himself, and then they’d go from there.

* * *

 

In his defense, when they’d sat down to dinner Mark had had no intention of accosting Jack at the kitchen table, but by the time they’d eaten and Jack was clearing the dishes away he couldn’t hold himself back any longer — and so the dishes had ended up shoved precariously to one end of the table and Jack was sprawled on his back on the other end, his shirt pushed up by Mark’s insistent hands. Something about being _here,_ with Jack, in his apartment, wrecks him as wholly as if his body were on autopilot.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he hears himself say breathlessly, the words falling from his lips without thought. “God, I can’t get over it…” His mouth finds Jack’s bare skin right at his collarbone — the noise Jack makes in response shatters whatever tenuous shred of self-control he’d had left. He pulls Jack’s shirt off and kisses him everywhere, his hands gripping the other man firmly by the waist. Jack writhes underneath him, hips bucking, his nails digging sharply into Mark’s shoulders. 

“Mark,” Jack hisses as Mark’s tongue is replaced by his teeth, leaving tiny red blotches blooming on his pale skin. “ _Mark..!_ ” Jack’s hands grip his wrists suddenly — he realizes he’d been unbuttoning his jeans. “Let’s go to bed,” he gasps, his accent coming through thickly as he pants for breath. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Mark takes in a steadying breath — then laughs despite himself. “Yeah,” he agrees. “This would really make a mess.” With that, he hooks his arms around Jack’s back and lifts the smaller man up as he stands. Jack makes a startled noise in protest, but his legs wrap instinctively around Mark’s waist, shifting most of his weight to settle against Mark’s hips.

“This is hot,” Jack admits, his hands settling on Mark’s shoulders, his fingers skimming along the sensitive skin of his neck. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been the one to pick _me_ up before.”

“You like it?” Mark asks. His voice is rough and gravelly, his lips still grazing the skin of Jack’s bare shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jack replies, moving his hips against Mark’s, setting his blood aflame all over again. “Do you?” Mark only grins and kisses him in response — Jack’s hands come up to cup his face and tangle in his hair as he kisses back.

The kiss turns messy and rough as Mark carries him, managing to find his way back to the bedroom with half-closed eyes. They crash-land in Jack’s bed, Mark pulling his own shirt off as Jack reaches for the waistband of his jeans. Somehow they end up in just their underwear, and Jack leans up first to kiss the crook of Mark’s neck and then to sink his teeth into the tender skin. Mark growls half in pain and half in pleasure, pressing his hips more insistently against Jack’s. When Jack bites down again, higher up on his neck, Mark pulls him away by his hair, kissing him roughly and catching his bottom lip between his teeth. The sensation of Jack’s scruff against his own is scratchy and different but he wants to keep feeling it.

Jack’s hips move in time with his own, his mouth is pliant and open, his tongue is eager, the noises he makes — the fucking _noises_ he makes in response to Mark’s every touch are somehow the most erotic thing he’s ever heard in his life. It all makes him feel desperate and wild, as if Jack’s touch is the only thing keeping him alive.

“I wanna be in you,” he says, almost a whimper, as he pulls his mouth away from Jack’s. “I wanna be inside you so fucking bad.”

“Okay,” Jack answers breathlessly. He meets Mark’s gaze — his blue eyes are clouded by his pupils blown wide with desire — and nods.

“Yeah?” Mark asks. “That’s… that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack repeats, and he licks his lips. “I mean, it’s been a while, but, yeah, it’s — it’s fine. I…” He trails off, then laughs, looking away. “I want you in me.”

The words are like a thunderbolt directly to Mark’s dick, and he presses more kisses along the sensitive skin of Jack’s throat, making him gasp.

“Yeah? You want me in you?” he asks, his voice a low growl. 

“Yeah,” the smaller man breathes. “Yeah.” His hands leave Mark’s shoulders — the sudden absence of their warmth and the sharpness of his nails pressing into Mark’s skin make him groan with longing — and reach clumsily for his bedside table. But Mark is holding him too tightly for him to reach, and he has no intention of letting Jack out from under him for even a moment. 

“ _Mark,_ ” Jack whines as Mark presses harder against him, rutting against the thin layers of fabric that are the only remaining barrier between their bare skin. “Mark, _please._ ”

Mark grins mischievously. “Please, what?” he prompts, and Jack growls, gesticulating wildly with his hands toward the table.

“Condoms,” he protests. “Lube — it’s all in there.”

Mark reaches toward the table, leaning into Jack so that every exposed inch of their torsos presses together tightly. The sensation of his lean muscles and wiry body hair is unlike anything Mark’s ever felt before, but he likes it, and from the faint moan that escapes from Jack’s mouth the other man likes it as well. His arms are just long enough to reach the drawer Jack had been grasping for, pulling it open and fishing around until the familiar crinkle of condom wrappers meets his fingers. He pulls them out, dropping them on the sheets next to them, and feels around for the little bottle of lube, depositing it next to the condoms. He pushes himself back up, wincing against the cool air on his suddenly exposed chest.

Once Mark’s weight is off him, Jack immediately pushes down his underwear and kicks them away. Mark laughs, marveling at his sudden eagerness.

“God, you were so shy in the shower,” he chuckles, drinking in the splendor of his lithe body and milky skin. “What happened?”

Jack shrugs, a faint blush creeping over his face. “First time jitters,” he mutters in reply.

“Second time is that much easier, huh?” Mark teases, running his hands down the length of Jack’s body, deliberately brushing each of his fingers over his nipples.

“Just fuck me already,” Jack groans, his head falling back onto his pillows.

“If you insist,” Mark replies. He pulls off his boxer briefs and leans into Jack again — they both gasp at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. Jack pulls one hand away from where he’d been gripping Mark’s arms to hold them together, stroking slowly.

“This is nice,” he says, his eyelids fluttering. “So, you know, no rush.”

Mark chuckles, but he can’t pull his eyes away from the sight of his cock pressed flush against Jack’s, his partner’s pale fingers wrapped around them both.

“Make up your mind,” he teases even as he thrusts into Jack’s hand. “You want me to fuck you or not?”

“That desperate to stick it in, eh?” Jack teases back, though his voice is shaky.

“Am I — fucking you — or not?” Mark repeats with a growl, punctuating each phrase by moving his hips harder, faster, eliciting a startled yelp from the other man.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack concedes with a groan. “Fucking hell.” He releases Mark from his grip and Mark leans back, uncapping the bottle of lube.

Jack watches him coat his fingers with it, then says, “Be gentle, alright? It’s been a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” Mark asks.

“God, it must’ve been… my second or third year of college, I think,” Jack replies, looking suddenly hesitant. “So, you know… a while.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Mark says. “But you gotta tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack says, nodding.

Mark moves slowly, his slick fingers teasing around Jack’s entrance before pressing the first digit in as gently as he can manage. When he starts pulling it back out, Jack’s eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a long breath he must have been holding.

“You okay?” Mark asks. He nods quickly in response.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s — I forgot what it was like.”

Mark watches his face as he eases him open, watches the way his eyelids tremble and his mouth falls open wordlessly, the way his head tips back to expose the thin flesh of his throat, the flush that rises in his cheeks and along his chest when Mark pushes his second finger in along with the first. By the time he’s three fingers deep, Jack is whimpering under him, one hand fisted in Mark’s hair.

“That’s good,” he says, his voice raw. “Mark, please.”

Their eyes meet and Mark nods, pulling his free hand away from where he’d been holding Jack’s hip to fumble with the condom. He tears the wrapper open with his teeth and rolls it on, then pulls his fingers out of Jack — the other man whines at the sudden absence.

“Just a second,” Mark assures him, squirting more lube into his hand. “I’m right here, just one more second.”

Mark slicks his cock with a few strokes, lines himself up, and eases into Jack with a slow, careful movement. When he’s buried to the hilt, they each let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” Mark breathes. “ _Fuck_ , I’m inside you, Jack.”

“Go slow,” Jack replies, loosening the grip he’d had on Mark’s hair. “Go slow at first, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark says. He moves, and Jack’s body shudders against him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jack hisses, biting his lip.

“Good?” Mark asks even as he keeps pulling out.

“Yeah,” Jack says, nodding quickly. “Yeah, it’s — it’s good. Don’t stop.”

At first all Mark can hear is the pounding of blood in his ears — then his own measured breathing and the slick sound of their bodies moving together, and Jack gasping as he pushes back into him, faster than he’d meant to — but Jack is so fucking warm and tight around his cock and every nerve in his body is on fire for it, begging for more. His hips move of their own accord, quickly setting an even, rhythmic pace that draws out a string of curses and moans from Jack.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Mark breathes. “I love how noisy you are.”

“F-Fuck you,” Jack pants in response, but whatever venom he’d tried to put into the retort only comes out as a whimper. “God, _Mark…_ ”

“You feel so fucking good,” Mark continues, exhaling the words more than saying them. He leans down to kiss him, their lips meeting in a mess of tongue and teeth. He angles Jack’s hips up with him as he moves so he doesn’t slip out — but it only makes Jack cry out more urgently, his fingernails digging into the skin of Mark’s back.

“Oh, _fuck —_ right there, yeah,” he gasps against Mark’s mouth. “God, Mark, right _there_ , fuck, please don’t stop, fuck — _fuck —_!” He devolves into wordless cries as Mark quickens his pace, kissing along Jack’s neck and collarbones. Jack’s legs wrap around his hips, pushing him in deeper with each thrust, and Mark squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into the curve of Jack’s neck to muffle the sounds escaping his mouth.

“N-No fair,” Jack protests breathlessly. “I wanna hear you, too.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, alright,” he relents. 

He kisses Jack’s shoulder one more time, the salt of their sweat lingering on his lips, and he pushes himself back up onto his knees, pulling Jack’s hips with him so they stay joined. Gently he spreads Jack’s legs apart, one hand resting on each of his thighs. Jack whimpers at the sudden exposure — but from here Mark can watch his cock slide in and out of his body, the sight of it sending a heady rush through him. He moves slowly, pulling out almost to the tip and then pushing back in with a careful, fluid motion. But watching his cock disappear into Jack only turns him on even more and he can’t help but pick up the pace again, fucking into him hard and fast and reveling in the way it makes Jack moan.

“God, you’re tight,” Mark gasps. “I — _fuck_ , I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me if I hurt you.”

“You’re not,” Jack replies, half laughing, half moaning. “You’re really not. It’s just — _shit,_ it’s really intense.” He pulls one hand away from where he’d been holding Mark’s arms at the bicep, squeezing hard at the base of his dick, giving it a few rough strokes and then squeezing again.

“Keep touching yourself,” Mark says, the words escaping him before he can even think about it.

“I’m trying _not_ to come already,” Jack protests, shaking his head.

“Please,” Mark insists between ragged breaths. “Please, it’s so — it’s really hot, watching you. I wanna watch you come.”

Jack makes a noncommittal noise, but he starts stroking his cock anyway, slowly at first but soon moving in time with Mark thrusting into him. Mark can tell it quickly brings him right up to the edge, watching as Jack’s eyes squeeze shut and his free hand slides up to his shoulder and digs into the tender skin at the base of Mark’s neck, tangling in his hair.

“Mark,” he whimpers, sounding completely undone. “I’m really — I’m really close.”

“Open your eyes,” Mark says, his voice a low, husky growl. “Look at me.”

With visible effort, Jack opens his eyes and meets Mark’s unblinking gaze, his lower lip caught between his teeth. It only takes a few more thrusts before Mark can _feel_ Jack coming, his body shuddering around Mark’s cock, his eyelids fluttering but not closing as he cries out — and the intensity of their gaze as he comes is so much more than Mark can bear and with a broken gasp he’s coming, too, falling into a warm sea the same shade of cobalt as Jack’s eyes.

When the waves stop crashing around him, he realizes he’s holding Jack’s thighs hard enough to bruise. He eases his grip, but can’t bring himself to pull away. He can still feel Jack’s trembling hand on the back of his neck — Jack is still watching him, even as they pant for breath, and Mark pulls one hand away to run his fingers soothingly through the other man’s hair. Finally Jack’s eyes slip closed as he leans his face into the contact, his flushed cheek against Mark’s palm slick with sweat. Wearily he closes his eyes, too, until he’s started to catch his breath and his heart stops feeling like it’ll break his ribs open. When he opens them, Jack is watching him again and smiles when their eyes meet. Slowly Mark grins back; he feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t know what. Instead he glances down to where their bodies are still joined, his gaze lingering on the stripes of pearly come on Jack’s abs and Jack’s fingers still curled around his softening cock.

“We should get cleaned off,” he says — his voice is gravelly and rough and Jack’s dick twitches when he speaks, which makes him grin wider. Jack only nods, still breathing hard. He leans back and they both gasp as their connection breaks. Mark stands to pull the condom off and tie it closed — when he looks back over at Jack, the other man is trembling.

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“Y-Yeah,” Jack says, nodding quickly. He breaks into an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I just — it was really intense. It’s really different, coming from bein’ fucked, instead of, y’know…” He trails off, a flush rising in his face, and glances away.

Mark chuckles. “I don’t doubt it,” he says, and he picks up his discarded shirt from the floor. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.” He kneels next to Jack and spreads the shirt over his belly, wiping him clean. Jack grabs the shirt, his sticky fingers balling into a fist in the fabric.

“T-Thanks,” he stammers, and he sits up. “I, uh, I have wet wipes and stuff in the bathroom.”

Mark helps him to his feet and they make their way to the bathroom. Jack is quiet as he cleans up, Mark washing his hands in the sink.

“You sure you’re okay?” Mark asks, and Jack looks over at him, startled.

“Yeah! Yeah, definitely,” he replies quickly. “Sorry, I’m just — I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

The smaller man shakes his head, his cheeks reddening. “N-Nothing,” he says. “It’s embarrassing. Really, it’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” Mark says.

“It’s just…” Jack starts, then he laughs and covers his face with his hands. “I — I know how this sounds, but I swear I don’t usually come so fast.”

Mark blinks, and then laughs. “Is that it?” he asks, shaking his head. “Jack, I wasn’t even thinking about it. And, I mean, we basically came at the same time just now, so…” He trails off, shrugging. “It’s new and exciting,” he says. “Sometimes coming fast just means you really want it, y’know?”

Jack starts laughing, too, leaning into Mark with his face still pressed into his hands. Mark pulls him closer, hugging him tightly, and Jack lowers his arms to hold him back, his scruffy cheek pressing into Mark’s bare shoulder. “That’s true,” he says, still chuckling. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know,” Mark murmurs, and he closes his eyes as he breathes in the scent of Jack’s hair and the sweat and sex still lingering on their skin.

“And so humble,” Jack laughs. “God, you’re awfully cuddly all of a sudden.”

“I just came inside you,” Mark replies, and he can nearly feel the heat rise in Jack’s face as he blushes. “Why wouldn’t I want to cuddle?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Jack agrees with a laugh. “This might be more comfortable back in bed, though.”

When they go back to bed, however, they end up not quite cuddling, but laying facing each other, legs entwined. With one hand Mark holds Jack’s exposed hip, his thumb running along the groove above his hipbone, and with the other he clasps Jack’s hands in the space between them. He can’t bring himself to look away from Jack’s vivid blue gaze.

After a moment — or maybe an hour, he can’t tell — Jack licks his lips and says slowly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Mark replies, an easy smile spreading across his features. Jack smiles back, but he visibly hesitates before continuing.

“Are you… Are you having, like, a gay freakout or anything?” he asks.

It takes Mark a second to process the question, then he chuckles. “No, I don’t think so,” he replies. “Not yet, at least. I mean…” He pauses, uncertain of what he wants to say. Jack squeezes his hand between his fingers and Mark squeezes back. “There’s always been guys I’ve been attracted to, you know? You’re the only one I’ve been with, but I’ve always known I’m not totally straight, so…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what that makes me but I’m not worried about it.”

Across from him Jack has started to grin, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad you’re so chill about it. I know I was a wreck after my first time with a guy.” He laughs self-consciously and glances away for a second. “If you do start to freak out you gotta let me know, okay?”

“Of course,” Mark says with a chuckle. They stare at each other for a long moment, then they both start to giggle. “God, Jack. How could I freak out? I’m here with you and I’m so happy. I’m really _here_.”

“I know you are. Right where you should be,” Jack agrees. He pulls Mark’s hand closer to him and kisses each of his fingers in turn, then leans closer to kiss him on the mouth. Their lips graze chastely, and Mark’s eyes slip closed as one of Jack’s hands reaches up to cup his cheek — somehow, it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him, and his heart swells up and overflows, spreading an almost-unbearable warmth through his body, and he knows he’s in love.


End file.
